Sink or Swim
by CyborgWithGreatHair
Summary: What if, one day, Ranger realised all the favours he wasn't doing Steph and his company by always having his men ready and waiting for her call? What would happen if he told the Merry Men to stand down? AU
1. Chapter 1

_Hello! And welcome to my new story. It will be quite short compared to most stories I write, but it had to be done. It entered my head while I was reading yesterday and I had to get it out. You'll have to use a bit of imagination with this first chapter though, because I had originally planned each of the [bracketed] names to be followed by " rangeman . com" forgetting that Fanfic hates that kind of stuff. Some of them really are funnier if you add the at Rangeman part._

 **Sink or Swim**

 **Chapter 1**

From: [ricardocarlosmanoso]

To: [tank], [fuckyeahsantos] , [morethanjustamedic] , [skullzrule] , [halasaurus] , [toosmarttobe] , [haveyoutriedturningitoffandonagain] , [silentdeath] , [howdidiwindup] , [bigdamnhero] , [everyonesucksbutme] , [patienceofasaint] , [princessponies], [cuttheredwire] , [merrymanformerlyknownasdavis] , [dontforgettobeawesome] , [howlongwilltheyletmemakemyemailaddress] , [icallhervera] , [cutthroat] , [ticktickboom] , [ambidextrousgunman] , [resistanceisfutile] , [bombshelllikesmebest] , [itchytriggerfinger] , [icankillyouwithmybrain] , [mcgyver] , [thing1] , [thing2]

 **Regarding Ms. Stephanie Plum  
** _18 May 2015 08:07_

After much discussion over the weekend with major stakeholders, lawyers and accountants, I have come to the conclusion that the current situation with Ms. Plum cannot continue. She is a liability. Her willingness to run headlong into situations beyond any of our control, and drag anyone and everyone into it with her has caused the insurance premiums to skyrocket. We are constantly using valuable company time and resources to assist her in her destructive endeavours.

As such, I have been advised that they best course of action is to cut ties with Ms. Plum. Any Rangeman employees caught assisting Ms. Plum in any way while on shift or in uniform will be penalised under the terms listed in the attached contract.

I expect all employees to sign and return said contract to human resources by 17:00 today, Monday 18 May 2015. Any and all employees who do not adhere to these terms will be terminated immediately.

Sincerely,

Ricardo Carlos Manoso

CEO Rangeman LLC.

 _I hope I have you all intrigued by this first little teaser chapter. I'll be posting the next installment tomorrow. Until then, share the love around a bit._


	2. Chapter 2

_Thanks so much for all your feedback! I'm so excited for this story because it will be so much shorter than my others, and because I am writing it so far ahead of what I'm posting. Usually I write a chapter. Post it. Then write the next. This time I've written four chapters before even starting to post and intend to write another couple before the end of the week (fingers crossed)._

 **Chapter 2**

It was Tuesday morning, and I was sat in my car – a beat up, Volkswagen Beetle with that was more rust coloured than its original green, if you must know – down the street from my latest skip's house, listening, for the seventh time, to Ranger's voicemail message. It wasn't like him to not answer my calls unless he was in the wind. And as far as I was aware, he was still in Trenton, so I was starting to think something might be wrong. The beep sounded in my ear and I sighed.

"Ranger, it's Steph… again… I could really use your help with this skip. If you could call me back that would be great… kay, bye…"

Throwing the phone onto the passenger seat, I glared through the misting windscreen to the weatherboard house with the fading red trim, recalling what had happened the last two times I'd attempted an apprehension. First time I'd knocked, he had answered with a couple of warning shots through the wall on the left side of the door, missing me by mere inches. I turned tail immediately, knowing that my unloaded Smith and Wesson and lack of confidence was no match for his fully loaded sawn off shotgun.

The next day, after commandeering a flak vest from the back room at Vinnies, I'd eased my way in through the back door and come face to face with none other than my skip, wielding a scary looking sword. I had no way of knowing for sure if it was real or fake, so I once again beat a hasty retreat, making it to my car without being sliced and diced only because I'd managed to knock over a trash can in his path to subdue him.

I'd learnt my lesson. I wasn't going to approach that house again without some serious back up. Ranger was my first choice, as always, but he wasn't answering his phone. I only had three more days left to bring this guy in, and my rent was due by the end of the week, so I decided to call Tank instead.

"Tank," he answered on the second ring.

"Tank!" I greeted with far more enthusiasm than I felt. "Listen, is Ranger in the wind or something? He's not answering my calls."

"He's got back to back meetings all day," Tank replied instantly, though he sounded like he was gritting his teeth. Not a very Tank like thing to do. "Is there some kind of message I can relay for you?"

Another sigh escaped my lips. "I could use some help with a skip," I explained. "I wanted to go Ranger, because it's his company, and I didn't want to just take his men away from their work without asking him first, but since he's busy and there's a real time constraint on this one, maybe you could help me out?"

There was a pause, during which I could have sworn I heard something like a cracking sound, but it could have just been a bad connection. "Sorry, can't," he finally said, that same edge to his voice as when he told me about Ranger's meetings.

"Can't?"

"I can't help you right now," he stated simply.

"What do you mean? Are you busy?"

"Yes."

I rolled my eyes. Why did talking to these guys have to be so hard? Getting answers from them was like extracting teeth! "And Ranger is busy too," I muttered, thinking aloud. "Should I call Lester or Bobby?"

"Also busy."

"Then what about Hal and Cal?" I asked.

"They're on a mission." It was like he had these answers lined up in advance, listing them off one by one to brush me off.

"Hector?" I ask, deliberately choosing a Merry Man I usually avoid to see how quickly he came up with an excuse.

A moment passed before his reply came. "He's tangled in cables at the moment."

A frustrated growl burbled up my throat and I had to grip the steering wheel in front of me to keep from bashing my hand against it and causing myself more injury than was necessary. "Well, I could really use some help right now," I stated angrily. "I've got a skip that likes to shoot through walls and chase me down the street with some kind of sword thing and you're telling me no one is available to be back up? Am I supposed to go in there alone and hop he doesn't take my head off?"

Tank's sigh was almost inaudible as a car sped past on the road, but I heard it. I'd worn down the defences he'd put up for whatever reason. He would find a way to get me help. "I'll take a look at the roster and see what I can do," he assured me.

"Thanks," I said, honestly meaning it, but the gesture was worthless, because he'd already hung up.

We organised to meet in the Cluck in a Bucket parking lot at 7.30 the next evening. I made sure I was there early, because I knew how much punctuality meant to Tank, but at 7.40 I was still waiting. I'd checked my gun was loaded, locked everything in my utility belt – taken from the back room of Vinnie's once again – and looked at the readout of my phone about a thousand times, before there was a tap at my window.

It took a moment to calm my heart before I was able to work the window buttons.

"You startled me," I informed him.

"You need to be more aware of your surroundings." He shrugged his massive shoulders and my attention was drawn to the fact that they were not clad in black. The soft grey material actually made him look almost normal. Leaning out the window to peer down at the rest of him I noticed the plain blue jeans and sneakers. No cargoes. No boots. Just a whole lot of odd… and it was slightly sexy. I mean, not that Tank wasn't attractive when he was in uniform, but Tank _out_ of uniform was practically bone melting.

"I'm not trying to hit on you or anything," I said, tilting my head back up, to look him in the eye once more. "But you should definitely consider not wearing your uniform more often."

"Noted," he said with a slight smile. "You want me to drive? Or should I jump in the other side?"

"I'll drive," I said, "You can run through the game plan."

He hesitated just a moment. "You're sure you'll be able to listen properly while you're concentrating on driving?"

I rolled my eyes. "Believe it or not, concentrating on the road helps me focus on what you're saying. If I was just sitting passively beside you I'd probably start thinking about donuts while you were talking."

For a moment he just stared at me, like he wanted to say something, but instead, just pressed his lips together and made his way around the front of my bug to the passenger side. I tried to ask about his attire and lack of utility belt a number of times before we parted ways back at Cluck in a Bucket an hour later, but he just kept brushing it off. Even when I asked what was going on at Rangeman that everyone was suddenly so busy all the time. It was like I wasn't in the circle of trust any more. I was concerned, and if Ranger would answer his phone once in a while, I'd ask him about it. Ranger had always been honest with me. The problem now was he wasn't in contact to _be_ honest, and that was concerning more than anything else.

 _Thanks for following along. Be sure to check out my other stories if you haven't already._


	3. Chapter 3

_Thanks as always for your wonderful support and feedback. It's always interesting to see how you'll all react to these controversial story lines._

 **Chapter 3**

Friday morning I sat on the scarred leather couch in the front room of Vincent Plum Bail Bonds, looking through my new files and sipping a cup of brown water that was supposed to be coffee. I still hadn't really heard from Ranger or anyone from Rangeman. There was a brief phone call last night when I was getting ready for bed. He'd assured me that he got my messages but that he didn't have time to help me himself at the moment because they were making great strides on the business side of things at the moment, and I'd just settled onto my bed to chat, when Tank's voice boomed in the background and Ranger was rushing off the phone. He'd promised to call me tonight for a proper reconnect, but I was still feeling quite rejected.

"So what's the latest at Rangeman?" Connie asked, shaking her bottle of Whore Red nail polish. "Spill the goss."

"I don't know," I replied honestly.

Lula's head snapped up from the magazine she'd been engrossed in while she was supposed to be putting the files away. "What do you mean you don't know?" she demanded.

I shrugged, setting my coffee aside and leaning forward. "I just don't know," I repeated. "It's like they're… freezing me out."

The girls stared at me in silence for the longest time. It was clear that they were as confused by my statement as I was. Ranger had always been there to support me, and when it wasn't him he had his men at my beck and call. I didn't want to admit to being reliant on that support and help, but I'd grown used to it being there if I needed it.

Before anyone could say anything more on the topic, though, the bell over the front door jangled announcing the presence of another body in the room. A black-clad body to be to be exact. Bobby stood just inside the door, his gaze moving from face to face like he could sense a disturbance in the force. His eyes were slightly narrowed as he crossed the room in slow, measured steps.

"Anything new for Rangeman?" he asked Connie, holding firm eye contact. I knew how hard it was to look away when one of the men speared you with that intense stare, so I wasn't surprised when Connie was left fumbling around for the pile of files that were set aside for Rangeman. Bobby, ever the helpful gentleman, saw the pile she was reaching for and slipped it out from under her fingers. "Thanks ladies," he mentioned, flashing his dazzling smile at all three of us as he turned to make his way out.

I couldn't believe it. He wasn't even going to acknowledge my presence! It was one thing for Ranger to be busy and Tank to not have time, they were running a company. But Bobby wasn't even going to take a moment to say hi.

As Bobby pushed through the door once more, I was up off the couch to catch up to him.

"Bobby!" I called just as he reached his SUV.

"Hey Bombshell," he smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "What's up?"

I glanced back toward the office where I'd left my files strewn all over the floor in my haste. "I was wondering if you could have a look at a couple of my skips and give me some tips."

His eye's cut to the SUV where I noticed Hal was waiting. "I'd love to, but I need to get back to Rangeman right now," he informed me. "I'll call you later, maybe."

"Oh, okay," I shrugged. "I'll… okay. Sure…"

Bobby dropped the hand that had been reaching for the car door and turned to face me fully for the first time, his gaze piercing mine. "What's wrong, Steph?" he asked, taking a single step toward me.

"You tell me," I sighed, throwing my hands out to the side. "Have I done something wrong?"

"Of course not," he said firmly, crossing his arms over his chest as his brow furrowed. "Steph, we're just all real busy at the moment. We've got big deals in the works and we need every man completely focused on the company right now."

I didn't know what to say to that. I understood that sometimes things got hectic at Rangeman and they had less for, well, everything else, but this was the first I heard of it. I'd tried to call Ranger a million times this week, and I'd spoken to Tank as well, and no one has told point blank, what was going on. And that hurt.

"Okay."

He uncrossed his arms, seeing that I wasn't even looking at him anymore, and took another steady step toward me. "What are you doing tomorrow morning?" he asked, leaning to the side to try catch my eye. "I'll come 'round with donuts and we'll take a look at those file, okay?"

"Sure," I shrugged.

"Steph, don't be like this. We're not excluding you, or leaving you or anything like that, we're just busy."

I tried my best to give him a reassuring smile so he wouldn't feel bad, but I was still feeling out of the loop, so I have a feeling it fell flat. "You're right. We're all grown-ups. I just gotta pull up my big girl panties and deal."

"I'll see you tomorrow," he assured me.

"Don't forget the Boston Creams," I reminded firmly, swinging back around to return to the office. "And coffee," I added without turning around. "Real coffee."

There was a knock on the door the next morning while I was attempting to form my hair into something that was vaguely presentable. As much as I knew Bobby could have my door open in a matter of seconds, despite the chain, I was aware that he wouldn't like me inviting me in that way. All the men were protective on me and had made it clear on a number of occasions that my apartment security was subpar. Inviting Bobby to break and enter, no matter how easy it would be, was not going to win me any favours. And apparently I was in a position where I needed to win favours.

"Just a minute!" I called out, searching for a hair band in amongst the pile of bobby pins on the bathroom counter. I managed to tangle the band around a strand of hair while on my way to the entryway and ended up opening the door with a tuft of hair sticking up from the side of my head attached to the band in my hand. "Hey," I greeted.

His gaze travelled from my face to the hair and back while my other hand trailed up to attempt a rescue mission. "Is this a bad time? I could come back later."

"No, no, no," I assured him. "It's fine. I just had a mishap with my hair. It won't take a second. Come in."

I stepped aside so that he could pass and noticed for the first time that he was dressed in grey sweats and a dark green t-shirt. His feet were clad in the most ridiculously flamboyant pair of sneakers I'd ever seen with massive tongues and what looked like graffiti up the side. And it hit me. This was the second time I'd seen one of the Merry Men out of uniform. I could count on one hand the number of times I'd seem any of them out of uniform in all the years I'd known them and here it was twice in a matter of days.

Add to that all the avoidance and business and I was really starting to feel like something was up.

"So where are these files?" he asked as I finally managed to extract the band from my hair.

Quickly winding my hair up into a bun so it had less chance of snagging on the hair band, I directed him toward the kitchen. "On the table," I informed him. "But first, show me the coffee."

He chuckled setting down the cup tray laden with two take-away coffees and a bag of fresh donuts. The guys really did know how to smooth things over with a girl. "One caramel latte for the lady," he announced, removing the appropriate cup from the tray. "One long black for the gentleman," he added with a self-assured grin. "And a dozen fresh donuts to share."

"Perfect," I announced, sinking into my favourite of the miss-matched chairs that surrounded my kitchen table and pulling the bag toward me, "So it's one for you and eleven for me, right?"

"Two for ten," he corrected.

I narrowed my eyes at him, dragging the bag further out of my reach. "We'll see about that," I told him. "You'll have to agree to my terms."

Bobby rolled his eyes at me. "First of all, two of those donuts are plain glazed," he said, picking up the first file from the pile and setting it before himself. "And second, I'm pretty sure you don't need to eat eleven donuts."

"You haven't had my week," I countered. "If I say I need eleven donuts, I need eleven donuts, Boston Creams or not. And by the way, since when do you indulge in more than one donut at a time?"

"Since its Saturday," he said, plucking the donuts from me. "And I jogged all the way here."

"So that's what the get up is?" I asked, eyeing his green shirt once more.

He gave me a hurt expression. "You don't like my outfit?"

I shook my head slowly. "It's weird seeing you out of uniform," I explained. "Like, really weird."

"Well you might want to get used to it," he informed me, removing two glazed donuts from the bag and passing it back to me.

I had a donut halfway to my mouth by the time I realised what he'd said. "What's that supposed to mean?" I demanded. "Why do I need to get used to seeing you out of uniform? Are you being let go?"

Bobby took a big bite of his donut and flipped open the file he'd selected. "Nothing like that," he said. "I just feel like you'll see a lot more of me out of uniform if this keeps up."

I set my donut back in the bag, suddenly not the least bit interested in the sugar treat. "What do you mean _if this keeps up_?" I asked. "What's going on?"

"Nothing," he assured me, shaking his head. "I'm just running an experiment to see if people react differently to me out of the uniform."

"Right."

"Just think about it a minute," he insisted, resting his elbows on the table. "Do I look intimidating like this?" I shook my head. "Exactly, but I'm scary as shit in my uniform, right?"

I scoffed. "Only because you're advertising how armed you are."

"I'm just as armed right now," he assured me. "It's just not all out on display."

"Okay, enough of your stupid experiment," I said, turning the topic back to the reason he was here. "I need your opinion on this Frojo guy."

 _More coming tomorrow. Thoughts welcome._


	4. Chapter 4

_Wow, some very strong opinions out there. Thank you everyone who has reviewed and let me know what you like and don't like and what your think of the situation._

 **Chapter 4**

Another week passed and the only Merry Men I saw for any longer than a passing wave, were Bobby and Tank. Both times out of their standard black uniform. And both times they were reluctant to help me out at first. They had to check their schedules and get back to me. A far cry from the days, just a couple weeks ago, when they would racing each other to come meet me on location.

Thursday afternoon, I decided to take the afternoon off fruitlessly chasing skips to wind down with some retail therapy. I was in Macy's walking the shoe department in heels I would never even consider buying when a Merry Man emerged from the word work, or sprang up from the carpet or something. I certainly didn't see him approach before he was directly in front of me in, giving my feet and ankles a very appreciative nod.

"I like," he informed me. "You should wear them every time I see you."

"You should turn around so I can implant on in your ass," I countered, crossing my arms over my chest and looking him up and down. Once again, I was confronted with a Merry Man out of uniform. Lester was sporting a pair of black slacks and a dark blue v-neck sweater with the sleeves pushed up his forearms. My ovaries did a flip at the sight and I had to remind myself that this was crude-mouthed Lester I was staring at, not smooth and suave Ranger.

He let out a chuckle. "I've definitely had worse threats than that." Turning from me, he started down the aisle behind me, trailing his hand along several choice pairs of CFMs, not doubt imagining how they'd look on me. It really was sick, sometimes. "So what's with the shopping?" he asked. "I thought you would have been out beating the streets to bring in your next skip?"

Leaning against the shelves so I didn't fall on my ass while I stepped out of the super high stilettos, I sighed. "I was, but there's only so many doors I can stand to have slammed in my face in one day."

"That bad, huh?" he asked, holding up a pair of lavender pumps for my consideration. I studiously ignored him while I pulled my ratty sneakers back on. "I've got the rest of the day free if you could use some assistance."

"Your day off?" I asked pointedly.

"Yeah, why?"

"No reason," I assured him, hitching my purse a little higher on my shoulder. "I've got the file in the car if you really wanna tag along."

We were heading down the street, our destination the coffee shop on the corner where my skip's brother worked. I'd tried contacting the guy at his home earlier, but the roommate had literally slammed the door in my face. I was lucky my noise wasn't broken.

Lester had been teasing me for the last hour and a half about nothing in particular. He was informing me that my hair looked almost like a Pomeranian in the back where the humidity had gotten to my messy bun, when my phone trilled out the batman theme song.

"Yo, batman," I greeted, a laugh still on my chest as I batted Lester's hand away from my head.

"Yo yourself, Babe," he replied, and I could tell he was smiling. "Listen, I'm sorry I didn't get your message earlier, I was in a meeting and-."

I shook my head, even though he couldn't see me. "Oh, no, that's okay I got L-" Lester was in front of me shaking his head and making cut motions under his chin. Perplexed, I immediately changed what I'd been about to say mid-word. "Llllaaazy and decided to leave it for another day." At least it wasn't a total lie. I _had_ intended on leaving it for another day, until Lester came along.

"Put Lester on the phone, Babe," Ranger requested.

Lester was mouthing stuff and making all kinds of wild gestures that were distracting me, but I got the overall message. He didn't want Ranger to know that he was with me. "I don't know what you're talking about," I said into the phone, sending Lester a _what the fuck_ look. "I'm not with Lester..."

Ranger's voice was flat. "I'm looking at both your phone trackers right now."

Two weeks it's been since he's given me the time of day, and now he's called and almost immediately asked for Lester? Not cool. "If you wanted to talk to Lester why didn't you call him?" I demanded.

"I wanted to talk to _you,_ " he insisted.

I just lost it. I was sick of him treating me like I didn't matter. I thought he was different and then _this._ "THEN WHY ARE YOU ASKING ABOUT LESTER?" I yelled. "IM NOT EVEN WITH HIM RIGHT NOW!" And hung up. It was the first time I'd ever hung up on him, but I just couldn't handle the way he was freezing me out.

"What the hell is going on?" I asked Lester, tossing my phone back in my bag to be forgotten for all I cared.

Lester raised one shoulder in a half shrug. "I may or may not have put itching powder in Rangers gym clothes?"

And the prize for the least convincing performance goes to… "Nice try," I said, shaking my head. "Not even you are that stupid."

He sighed loudly, shoulders dropping back down to below their natural position. "Okay, I'll level with you," he said heavily. "Ranger's made some decisions lately that I don't agree with. I let him know. And you know how he feels about people telling what he's doing wrong."

"You're so stupid."

Lester chuckled. "You only just realised this now?"

"You do a god job of hiding it," I informed him, adding as an afterthought, "Most of the time. But it doesn't explain why you wouldn't want Ranger to know that you're with me. Are you supposed to be somewhere else right now?"

"No. It's my day off, like I said. That's why I'm not in black cargoes and combat boots."

"Just like Bobby was on his day off, so he was in sweats. And Tank was done for the day, so he was in jeans. But I've never seen you all out of uniform so often."

Lester's head snapped around from where he'd been staring off at something down the street. "Hold up," he said, holding up a hand to slow me down, though I wasn't going anywhere. "You've been seeing Bobby and Tank?"

"Uh," I uttered, confused. "It's not like I've been dating them or anything, but, yeah. Was I not supposed to?"

"Oh-ho-ho," he crowed, his face lighting up with joy. "Just wait til I tell-"

"Tell who?" I interrupted. "Ranger? I thought you were fighting with him? And why would me hanging out with Bobby and Tank be news for Ranger?"

"Because we're not supposed to be."

"What?!"

Talking quickly now, in an attempt to stem my tirade before it happened, Lester explained, "Ranger named you a liability and informed us in no uncertain terms that we were not to help you on company time or while wearing the uniform, and we were not to use company resources. He even made us sign a contract to that effect."

"WHAT?!" That was definitely not what I was expecting.

"Did I speak too fast?" he questioned, and I had a feeling he honestly thought that could have been the reason. "My high school English teacher always marked me down on my speeches because I spoke too fast and she couldn't catch everything I was saying."

"Ranger forbid you from helping me?!" I demanded, getting him back to the situation at hand.

"Oh," Lester uttered, looking a little uncomfortable as he stuffed his hands in his pockets. "So you did catch it. Yeah, he had a meeting with the lawyers and accountants and such and they advised him to cut ties if he wanted the business to continue to succeed.

"Cut ties…"

"Yep. And he clearly didn't mention it to you… Are you okay?"

I shook my head, suddenly understanding why he'd been avoiding me the last couple of weeks. I didn't know what was worse, that he'd told his men to leave me alone because some accountant said it cost too much to help me, or the fact that he himself had not informed me of this decision. I might have been alright with it if he'd let me know what he was doing, and I certainly would have stopped asking the guys to give me a hand. I didn't want them to get in trouble.

Then there was the fact that he was avoiding me outside of professional fields as well. He was supposed to be my boyfriend, the one person in the world who supported me no matter what – apart from my parents, and we all knew how good a job _they_ did at it. I guess it was just the story of my life.

"He doesn't want me around anymore because I'm ruining his success. I'm tarnishing his good name with my accident prone ways," I muttered.

Lester wrapped one arm around my shoulders, pulling me into his side. "If it makes you feel any better, this is what our disagreement was about," he assured me. "That's why I'm helping you right now. That's why the others have been helping."

"You're going against your boss for me?" I was surprised I hadn't started the water works yet. It felt like my life was falling apart while I stood here on the sidewalk.

"He wrote the loopholes in," Lester shrugged. "We'd be stupid not to use them."

I shook my head, suddenly feeling like my entire existence was useless. "You should have been stupid."

 _That's all I have for the moment. I'll try to get more done over the weekend for next week._


	5. Chapter 5

_So I had planned on getting a number of chapters written over the weekend in order to post them during the week, but I suddenly found myself babysitting my nieces (6 months and 2 years) and well, I'm sure you understand what a time drain that is... Anyway, here's the next chapter. I'll try to get some more up soon._

 **Chapter 5**

After we'd captured the guy and Lester had left me to my own devices again, I drove straight over to Rangeman to confront Ranger. I didn't care if he was in the middle of a meeting with the most prestigious client he had, I was going to give him a piece of my mind. I couldn't believe he'd sent an email out to all his employees telling them to stay away from me and not help me, when he was the one that was always having me babysat at the first sign of trouble. PLUS he didn't even have the heart to tell _me_ about it. I would have thought I'd be the _first_ person he would tell if he was pulling back the support. You know, so I was aware of the situation.

I rolled up to the parking garage gate and hit my key fob like usual, but nothing happened. I tried again. Nothing. Winding down the window, I stuck my head out and waved at the camera. Still nothing. A frustrated growl accompanied the squealing of my tires as I reversed out of the driveway to find a park on the crowded street. Not only had he removed the support he'd always given so readily in the past, he'd disabled my fob, which was the equivalent of taking back the key to his apartment as well. Fuel for the fire.

Eventually, I found a park a block away and stormed back up the street and through the little-used front door of the building. Hank was sitting at the desk by the door and looked shocked when I entered.

"Uh, hi Bomber…" he greeted uncertainly. "Everything okay?"

"I'm going to get it that elevator, and you're going to make sure it gets to the floor Ranger is on," I informed him firmly. "Because if it doesn't, I will personally make your life a living hell."

"Ranger's in meetings all day," Hank mentioned, consulting something on his computer screen. "He doesn't have a break until-."

"I. Don't. Care." I seethed. "Elevator. Now."

"Yes, ma'am," he agreed, hitting a few keys as I stomped across the marble floor of the lobby.

"And don't call me ma'am," I instructed as the elevator doors opened and I stepped in.

He had no reply to that, instead, choosing to focus extra hard his computer. A moment later I was moving, watching the numbers on the display light up as I passed the floors. I expected to stop at either three, where the main conference rooms were housed, or five, the command floor that also holds Ranger's office, but the elevator just kept cruising on past, all the way to seven. I was not aware that Ranger was taking meetings in his personal space now. Then again, I wasn't aware until a couple of hours ago that he was removing all the support systems he'd put in place over the last few years, so what could I say about knowing how Ranger worked these days?

I waited for the doors to open, pressing the button when they took too long. It was only after a minute that I remembered that an authorised fob was needed in order to gain access to the seventh floor penthouse. I knew mine hadn't worked on the gate downstairs, but I waved it over the sensor on the off chance that it would open the doors.

No such luck.

Another two minutes went past and I called Hank on my cell, thanking the powers that be for the fact that the Rangeman elevators never interrupted the cell signals. In fact, I got better reception in the Rangeman elevators than I did in the corridor of my own apartment building. Hank answered on the second ring. "Ranger needs to approve your access," he explained by way of greeting.

"Does he know I'm waiting?" I asked, gritting my teeth.

"No way of knowing for sure," Hank informed me. "He usually doesn't let it sit there this long."

I stabbed my free hand through my hair. "Well is there a doorbell or buzzer or something so I can let him know I'm waiting here?"

"I could try calling him… or… you could?" he suggested. "He really is quite busy."

I sighed. "I'll call him," I said, promptly hanging up. I loathed it when people did it to me, but I just wasn't in the mood for pleasantries today. Slapping my finger against the touch screen of my phone, I hit speed dial one and took a deep, breath in an attempt to calm myself while I listened to the ringing. He didn't answer, and as his recorded voice began relaying his short and concise message, I hung up again. No way was I leaving a message in this state. I would likely end up screaming down the phone at him. Instead I typed out a quick text:

 _I'm in the elevator. Let me in._

Thirty seconds later, I finally heard the familiar whirring of mechanisms as the elevator doors slid slowly apart revealing Ranger standing in the foyer just outside his apartment. He wore charcoal grey slacks that I was sure were tailored perfectly to caress every manly curve and bulge he possessed, shiny black dress shoes, and a pale blue shirt. The sleeves were neatly rolled up to his elbows, and the top couple of buttons were open at his collar, giving the impression that he'd been working hard when I interrupted him. Add to that the reading glasses still perched on his nose and I was just about ready to swoon. It was only the fact that he'd had to come and let me in, that kept my thoughts in line.

He had a lot of explaining to do.

"Babe," he said, taking a step forward, but I held up my hand to stop him.

"We need to talk," I told him, crossing my arms over my chest. "Now."

"I'm in the middle of -."

"I never figured you for a coward before today," I said softly. "Whatever you're in the middle of, I'm sure it can wait until after you've explained to me why you would make such a drastic decision regarding my safety and not tell me."

Ranger stuffed his hands in his pockets, his shoulders relaxed, like hadn't a care in the world. But I knew him well enough to know that his body language is a lie. There were tiny little tension lines around his eyes and an ever so slight thinning of his lips. "I take it Lester told you," he eventually said.

"Yes," I agreed. "Lester, being my friend, told me that my supposed boyfriend - whom I haven't seen in three weeks, I might add – forbade his staff to help me on company time and using company resources. I'd also like to point out that said boyfriend had previously put the fear of life into his employees if they allowed so much as a hair on my head to be harmed. The same boyfriend who insisted on a two person tail whenever my life was even vaguely threatened."

"Babe." His tone sounded exasperated, like he couldn't believe I was so worked up over this, but there was no way I was backing down now.

"Don't 'Babe' me, Ranger. I have a right to know these things. They affect my life in a big way. And unbeknownst to me, I've been putting my friends in an awkward situation the last couple of weeks by asking for their help." I paused to take a deep breath and steady my frazzled nerves, luckily though, Ranger decided to remain silent. "I just want to know what's going on. What happened? Why now? Why exclude me from the decision making process?"

Ranger stared at me for the longest time before letting out the smallest sigh I've ever witnessed. "Come inside and we'll talk," he requested quietly, reminding me of the fact that I was still standing within the walls of the elevators.

I didn't move, still too angry to agree to his placid request. I wanted – needed – him to get as worked up as I was.

"Steph, please," he murmured, pinching the bridge of his nose like he was staving off a headache and removing the spectacles from his face. "You're holding up the elevator."

"The guys prefer the stairs anyway," I pointed out, standing my ground.

"But Ella and Louis use the elevator regularly," he countered. "Please step inside so I can explain the situation in privacy."

"Like you should have done three weeks ago," I muttered, but slowly stepped out of the metal box as he moved aside to let me pass. I made my way into the dining room where his laptop was set on one end of the table surrounded by a myriad of papers and files. It took all of my will power not to snoop through it all on my way to the clear end. I'd never seen such evidence of the business side of the work Range does before and I was curious what it all was.

Stemming my urges, I took a seat on one side of the mahogany monstrosity (why had I never noticed how big the table was in comparison to the rest of his apartment? Did he really need such a massive piece of furniture? How much entertaining did he actually do?) and hoped that Ranger would catch the vibes I was trying to send off and take the seat opposite me. Either Ranger's ESP wasn't working today, or he was deliberately ignoring the waves of tension I was exuding, because he took the chair at the end of the table, adjacent to my own.

"I know you're upset –" he tried to start, but my Italian temper snapped and I couldn't help but interrupt.

"Upset?" I raged. "You think this is _upset?_ Ranger I am ANGRY! LIVID! I thought you were different to everyone else. I thought you respected my decisions. I thought you supported me no matter what. But _apparently_ you're just like every other person I've ever cared about enough to let in!" Suddenly, it didn't matter anymore that he'd chosen the closest chair to mine, because I was on my feet and pacing up and down the length of the table, my hands flying around my head. "I thought – I just ASSUMED – that we were able to TALK about these things! That's what made us better. And then you go and do this! I'd throw something at you if I didn't think it would shatter on impact and leave you unscathed!"

"Babe," he tried to interrupt, or calm me, I'm not sure which, I wasn't paying enough attention.

"Three weeks, Ranger! THREE FUCKING WEEKS, and you didn't have a single spare moment to inform me that you'd removed all my safety nets without consulting me first. What if I had gotten into trouble? What if I was kidnapped, or worse? Would you still withhold your support? How well do you think your men – faithful as they are to you – would react?"

"I'm sorry," Ranger stated, posture still relaxed as he leaned his elbows on the table top. "I had no choice."

I tried to raise an eyebrow at him, but failed as usual. "You had no choice but to leave me in the dark?" I questioned, crossing my arms over my chest with a jerk. "I find that hard to believe."

"I should have told you. I know," he mentioned, sitting back a little. "I should have _made_ the time to see you, a let you know, but I got caught up in the sudden forward movement of the company expansion. I've been working on this for three years and it's only just starting to come together now."

"You never told me you were planning to expand to the West Coast," I pointed out.

"It didn't seem important at the time," he explained. "It was just an idea in the back of my mind. A dream."

Now that I wasn't yelling and waving my arms about, the adrenaline was draining from my system, and leaving me exhausted. I leaned my shoulder against the wall and tipped my head back. "Three weeks, Ranger," I sighed. "I haven't seen you in three weeks. Have barely spoken to you in that time. Do you know how many times I've spoken to my Aunt Beth in that time?" I took his silence as a sign to continue. "Twice. I've had two hour long conversations with my Aunt Beth who lives in ENGLAND. But my boyfriend? I've had about half an hour of interaction with him total. What am I supposed to think?"

"Babe."

"I hate feeling like this, Ranger," I informed him. "I hate feeling like that jealous girlfriend that can't handle not having her boyfriend pay attention to her, but you legitimately aren't right now."

"Have dinner with me tonight," he requested, like that would fix all the problems I'd raised in the last ten minutes. "I'll cancel my-."

I shook my head, suddenly resigned. "Just stop," I said. "This isn't why I came over her. I just wanted to hear straight from the horse's mouth why you did what you did."

Leaning forward once more, Ranger laid his hands flat on the table in front of him and stared straight into my face for a full minute before replying. "My investors expressed a concern over the amount of money that was being used on rescuing you from seemingly avoidable situations. They mentioned that if the state of affairs remained the same they would pull funding. With a major move in the works, I can't allow that to happen, so I did what I had to in order to keep them happy."

Not lifting my head, I clarified, "You told you men to stand down so that you wouldn't be strapped for cash?" Ranger nodded shortly. "I thought you were the main investor in this company. And what about Tank, Lester and Bobby?"

"Tank, Lester and Bobby hold less sway than they make out," he assured me. "And while I am a major source of funding for Rangeman, I would not be able to do everything I do without the assistance of my silent partners."

"So what you're saying is, these suits I don't know, didn't like you spending money on helping me so you cut it off all together?"

"Yes."

"You just rolled over?"

"Babe."

"I'm done," I informed him, pushing off the wall. "I can't look at you anymore right now. You've just shattered every belief I had about you." With that, I turned and headed for the door.

"Babe wait," Ranger called, and I heard his chair scrape back.

I paid him no mind, but continued through his apartment, which suddenly felt much larger than it ever had before, until I reached the foyer. Luckily, once you made it to the foyer of the seventh floor, it was easier to exit. No fob was needed to summon the elevator, and the doors would open without any hesitation. At least they would usually. Today, I had a feeling Ranger had hit a button on his way to subdue me. It wasn't going to stop me, though. I wasn't opposed to taking the stares if it got me out of an unsavoury situation.

Three floors down, I realised Ranger wasn't following me, and slowed my pace to a walk so I wouldn't look as harried when I reached the lobby. There was any number of eyes on me via the security cameras throughout the stair well, but it didn't matter as much as the face to face impression I would make when I emerged downstairs.

Hank was busily typing when I made my way back across the marble tiled floor toward his desk. "I should probably return this," I mentioned calmly, placing my deactivated fob beside his keyboard. "You can reprogram it for other uses, right?"

"Uh, right," Hank agreed, eyeing the object warily. "I'll be sure Hector gets it."

I sent him the best smile I could muster at that moment – which admittedly, was extremely lack luster – and headed out the door calling a hopefully flippant, "Thanks," over my shoulder.

 _Let me know what you think. I'll hopefully get some more up soon._


	6. Chapter 6

_Thanks so much for all of your lovely reviews. It's such a pleasure to read all your words and see what strikes you from my writing. A couple of you mentioned a concern that Steph and Ranger were "suddenly" in a relationship in the previous chapter, that I'd made it seem like they were just friends leading up to that point. I apologise for any confusion. I had originally mentioned such things, but must have edited it out. It has always been my intention that Steph and Ranger were in a relationship (were being the operative word, it seems)._

 **Chapter 6**

Amazingly, I managed to hold myself together until I made it to my apartment. Just. The moment I'd pushed the door closed the flood gates burst and I slid down the hard surface to sit in a crumpled, pathetic heap on the floor. I couldn't believe my life had taken such a turn for the worse. I wish I could have gone back to yesterday when I thought my biggest problem was the Ranger and the Merry Men avoiding me, for whatever reason. Now… Now, I knew that my supposed boyfriend, the man who loved me, had put his business before his relationship, like he always warned me would happen. He informed me straight off the bat that his life did not lend itself to relationships, but optimistically, I'd discounted his words. How foolish I'd been.

I stayed on the floor until the last of my tears and dried on my cheeks and the dehydration had caused a dull headache to throb at my temples. Then, I kicked my sneakers off and left all my baggage at the door as I made a beeline for the freezer and the half tub of Ben and Jerry's ice cream I knew was hiding in the back. With that and a bottle of tequila from the cupboard above the microwave, I padded to the couch in my living area and settled onto the lumpy cushions. Digging the remote from the gap at the back of the cushions where it always ended up, I click the television on and flipped through channels until I found something mindless that would not in any way remind me of Ranger.

After about half an hour I ended up on Dance Moms, a ridiculous show that featured a small group of child dancers at this dance school and their pretentious, entitled, bitchy moms. It took me no time at all to develop a drinking game for it. Rules were simple really – drink when the teacher praised the favourite child, drink when a child fell, drink when a child cried, drink when the moms drink (it seemed only right to join them), drink when a mom bitches about another mom behind their back, drink when the dance teacher yells at someone, drink when someone forgets their routine, drink when someone threatens to leave… long story short, I was drinking at least every two minutes.

By the third episode the ice cream was gone and I'd made fairly unstable trip to back to the kitchen to retrieve more supplies in the form of chips, Tastykakes and beer. I'd also gathered a pillow and comforter from my bed and wrapped myself up cocoon style on the couch. I might have attempted a pillow fort if I thought I had sufficient motor skills remaining and a decent supply or pillows, but as it was, I almost gave myself a black eye getting the blanket around my shoulders.

When the Dance Moms marathon was over I managed to plug Ghostbusters into the DVD player and fell asleep (passed out is probably a more accurate term) to the familiar and comforting sound of the opening credits.

 _Thanks for reading. Be sure to leave your predictions in the comments box below!_


	7. Chapter 7

_Many thanks to everyone who has reviewed and given your (sometimes very strong) opinions. And also, to my unofficial beta, LadyLogicCanoe (previously known as Shreek) for find what was wrong with the chapter when I simply couldn't._

 **Chapter 7**

Friday morning I was awakened by the ringing of a phone. My phone, probably, but that kind of thought was nowhere near my head. What was near my head was everything I had consumed the previous day. Literally. At some point during the night I must have vomited in my sleep. My first sight when I opened my eyes was the pool of bile and half-digested food. The stench arrived a moment behind and my stomach was rolling again. It was all I could do to dash across the apartment to the bathroom, one hand clamped over my mouth and the other arm wrapped around my middle.

I emptied what remained in my stomach and was washing my face when the trill of my phone reached my waterlogged ears – at least I hoped they were only waterlogged and not vomit logged as well. Anything was possible when you slept on a pillow of your own vomit. I might have gone in search of my phone then, had I not caught sight of myself in the vanity mirror. There was vomit all through my hair. The phone was going to have to wait. There was no way I could let that fester there. The stench alone would have me retching again within minutes.

An hour later I emerged, pink skinned and fresh, from the shower. The scalding water and steam had helped with a lot of the hangover symptoms, but I was still left with a queasiness I knew only _the cure_ could … uh… cure….

The phone was ringing again. Or still. I'll be the first to admit that I wasn't paying attention to anything outside the bathroom up until that point. Studiously avoiding the living room, where I knew there was a God-awful mess waiting to be cleaned up – or added to, depending on how well my stomach held out – I made my way to the kitchen in search of my phone. What I found there, though, had me frozen in my tracks just inside the arched doorway.

The scent of Bulgari shower gel drifted across the space and straight into my nostrils, infusing my brain with the memories of all the individual moments we had spent together. I allowed myself a brief moment to steel myself against his powers of attraction, closing my eyes and blowing out a breath. When I inhaled once more, it wasn't Bulgari, but the smell of coffee and … I almost moaned. He'd brought the cure.

"Babe," he said quietly, standing from the small breakfast table.

"What are you doing here?" I demanded, crossing my arms over my chest in a defensive measure. I was feeling particularly vulnerable this morning; not at all the fiery ball of anger I'd embodied when last I was faced with Ricardo Carlos Manoso.

"I thought you could use the cure," he explained, gesturing to the paper bag emblazoned with the iconic golden arches. "And I wanted to apologise for the way I've treated you."

"I'm not ready to accept your apology," I stated bluntly. And I wasn't. As much as it pained me to push him away, I couldn't get past the fact that he'd practically ignored me for three weeks, during which time he'd made a major, life-changing decision on my behalf and didn't bother to even warn me. I needed more than sixteen hours to come to terms with his betrayal. I had to close my eyes once more against the ever so slight change in expression that crossed his face. He'd clearly been expecting me to forgive him. "Please leave. I have things to do."

"Babe."

I shook my head, eyes still closed and had to throw a hand out to grab the wall so I wouldn't fall over. My balance was still being affected by the alcohol trying to leave my system"No. I have nothing to say to you at the moment," I informed him.

"Will you give me a chance to ex-."

"No," I intoned, finally opening my eyes to stare past his head. "I need time. I can't just flip a switch and pretend like everything is okay." Slowly, I inhaled a deep breath and repeated. "Please leave."

To my surprise, Ranger gave a short, almost jerky nod and turned on his heel toward the front entryway. I stayed put, not trusting myself to move until I heard the door open and close, the locks sliding into place. Almost as soon as he was gone, my phone was ringing again, and I realised that it was coming from the entryway, where I'd left everything when I arrived home last night.

By the time I'd made it to the door and dug the phone out from my bag, which had been placed neatly on the shelf above the shoe rack, the ringing had stopped. Such is my luck. I tapped on the missed call icon in the corner of the screen and almost blanched. Seventeen missed calls. Another tap brought up the list view of the log and I relaxed a little. They were all from Tank, Lester and Bobby. Not my mother. Thank god.

I would have called them back, if it weren't for the fact that I didn't know which to call. The most recent three were from Lester, and I hadn't received a call from Tank in over two hours. Sighing, I figured they would be calling again before long, so decided to take the phone back to the kitchen with me to get stuck into the deep fried medicine that was the only good thing to come from Ranger's appearance this morning.

Just as I predicted, the phone rang once more when I half way through scarfing down the salty foods, drenched heavily in ketchup.

"Hello?" I greeted around the chicken nugget I'd just popped into my mouth.

"Steph," Bobby returned. "How are you?"

"Fine," I assured him, but even I could hear the resignation in my voice.

Bobby made a noise in his throat that I didn't recognise. "No, really," he insisted. "Are you okay? We heard you had an unscheduled meeting with Ranger yesterday afternoon."

"Confrontation," I corrected on a sigh. "Argument."

"That too," he agreed. "So are you holding up okay? Hank was pretty concerned by how calm you were when you left."

"I'm fine, Bobby," I said, sipping on the Coke Ranger had left. "I'm… shattered and broken and…" I inhaled slowly, acknowledging the way my breath shook. "Hungover." Recalling my wake up call, I added, "And there's a mess of, of… vomit in my living room waiting for me to clean it up. But I'm fine."

"You drank last night?" Bobby asked. "It must have been a lot. You don't usually toss your cookies."

I murmured agreement while dragging a fry through sauce and trying not to think of the way my sick had clung to my face and hair. "If I do," I commented, "I'm at least usually awake for it."

"Shit, Steph," Bobby said, sounding far more worried than he had a moment ago. "That's really dangerous! You could have choked to death." He paused a moment and I imagined him slowing his heartbeat in order to calm down. Clearly, I had _not_ choked and died, so I was alright. That was the important point of the matter. "Do you need me to do a drive by McDonald's and get you the cure?" he asked. It was very sweet, and had I not already had the cure in front of me, I might have taken him up on the offer. That and the fact that I couldn't stand to see the pity in his eyes when he saw how much of a mess I was at the moment. My life had gone from pretty okay to a complete shambles in the last twenty four hours and I didn't need any more witnesses to my downward spiral.

"Thank you, but no," I assured him firmly. "Ranger…" I had to pause a second to even out the trembling in my voice. "Ranger already… brought it."

"Oh," he uttered, sounding surprised. "I'll go so you can get back to him, then."

I shook my head. "He's not here anymore," I explained. "We… I don't think we're together anymore. I can't stand to look at him. What he did… I just… It was a low blow."

Bobby murmured something, taking a moment to form real words. "None of us wanted to sign the contract," he informed me. "Lester, Tank and I all tossed the forms on Ranger's desk and refused. We argued with him for hours, but ultimately, we need our jobs, so we had to sign. Clearly we each decided that even though we couldn't help you during work hours, it didn't mean we had to cut you out of our lives completely. I'm so sorry things turned out the way they did. I should have told you."

"No," I countered. "It's not your fault. I – He –," Another sigh escaped me. " _Ranger_ should have told me. I should have taken the time to go see him sooner. I had a feeling something was going on, but he just, um, he kept saying he was really busy with the expansion." I squeezed my eyes shut, thinking of the way Ranger had looked at me when the elevator doors slid open. The usual desire was there, but there was a tension around his eyes. He wasn't happy to see me. "I didn't want to be that annoying girl who demands so much of his time," I told Bobby. "Apparently, I was anyway…" The

"Steph, Ranger was out of line," Bobby insisted. "And he's gonna get his ass kicked for it. No one agrees with how he handled this."

"Fine," I sighed. "But you don't need to worry about me… helping me anymore. I don't want you to put your jobs and lives in jeopardy. I'll be fine on my own."

Bobby's voice was half an octave higher when he responded. "Don't be ridiculous."

Shoving a bunch of fries into the sauce, I took a deep breath and let him know, with more confidence than I felt at that moment, "I can do this without you all holding my hand. It's time for me to stand on my own two feet." And with that I hung up, turning the phone all the way off to avoid further calls. I wasn't in the mood to talk anyway. I was barely in the mood to be awake, but I knew that I couldn't sleep until I'd done something about the mess on the couch. Maybe I should just through the whole thing away. It wouldn't be the first time I'd disposed of an item of furniture because it got gross bodily fluids on it.

I finished off my breakfast, and sculled the luke warm coffee Ranger had poured before grabbing the only pair of rubber gloves I owned – though I don't remember ever actually buying them – and got to work on the living room. A while later, I had all the carnage from the night before double bagged and sitting by the door while I tried to decide whether the couch was salvageable. Most of the puke had actually been contained to the comforter, with a portion on one of the cushions and a bit of a splatter down the front. I'd already removed and bagged the offending cushion cover, but there was a large wet patch on the cushion itself. Probably, it would be okay if I scrubbed and turned it over, but my head kept visualising the bile seeping into the cushion fibres and staying there. In comparison, the spatter on the front of the couch itself seemed barely worth mentioning.

Eventually, I decided that I could save the couch, but I would need to get a new cushion and cover. Hopefully that would be cheaper, too. Funds were running low. I had no idea how I was going to survive without the help of Ranger and the Merry Men. Probably, I was going to have to bite the bullet and get a job at the button factory like my mom always wanted. Unless….

The idea came to me so suddenly, I expected to see a lightbulb hovering over my head if I looked up. It was perfect. It solved my problem of not being able to successfully do my job without the help of the guys, and had the added bonus of giving Ranger a big heaping helping of _F You._ Maybe I could prove to everyone that I didn't need to be babysat. I didn't need them to constantly pick up the pieces of my life. I could do it on my own. It was going to be a long road, and I didn't even really know where to start, but the decision was made. I was going to get training. I was going to turn myself into a kick ass bounty hunter and rub it in Ranger's face.

 _I'll be back with more next week. Until then, don't get shot!_


	8. Chapter 8

_Happy Monday! It is currently before 6am, but I wanted to get this out before I left for work, because I'm super excited about this week, especially Monday, when you get to meet the new character I've created for this story. :D Have fun, y'all_

 **Chapter 8**

That evening, I was engrossed in a myriad of fruitless searches on my laptop, sitting atop the pile of folded blankets I was currently using as a substitute for the cushion I had thrown away. I'd looked into getting a new cushion to replace it, but it turns out buying a single cushion that would fit the couch was almost as expensive as buying a whole new couch all together, so I'd put the couch dilemma aside for now to focus on my epiphany. I needed training and I needed it to not come from the Merry Men. Stealing their down time to train me was not going to prove to Ranger that I could get by without his assistance. It was just showing that I could get his men to help me even when he told them not to, which isn't really the point of this. The point is to become the best damn bounty hunter Trenton had ever seen, and not use a single Rangeman sanctioned resource.

I had several tabs open on my browser, searching everything from martial arts schools to boot camps to bounty hunter specialists to yoga studios. The yoga thing was a bit of a long shot, and I theoretically knew it wasn't going to be useful in the least, but it was the cheapest option I'd come across. Like, significantly cheaper. The Bounty Hunter Specialists sounded the best, but there was no way I could afford their fees, and there was _definitely_ no way I was going to ask for a loan. I had to keep looking, or buy a lottery ticket or something.

There was a knock on my door as I was checking my emails and I was inclined to ignore it, knowing that with my luck it would be Ranger again. Trying to win his way back into my good graces by not breaking in for a change. Don't get me wrong, I loved when he surprised me in the middle of the night. They were some of my favourite times with him. But at the moment, I couldn't stand to see his face.

Reaching across the cushions to where I'd thrown the remote, I upped the volume so I couldn't hear the knocking. Whoever it was got the hint and stopped, but soon came a yell that had me turning the sound back down so I could try to understand what they were trying to communicate. I just hoped that they weren't yelling because they were being attacked by the hallway murderer (not necessarily a real thing, but the stories seemed to play on your mind a lot more at night when you're making your way down the hall in the dark, alone).

"-za's getting cold!" I caught the end of the latest shout. It was a familiar voice, but I didn't have enough to identify it yet. Unlike Ranger and the Merry Men, I need more than a second of audio to figure out who was talking. My ears weren't that in tune.

"And the beer's getting warm!" another voice chimed in.

"Just let us in!" came a third. And just for the fact that there was three voices – and that the third was very distinctive boom – I knew who was at the door.

Setting my laptop aside, I made my way to the entry way to let them in. I wasn't sure why they were here, but there was pizza ad beer involved, so I was going to overlook any good deeds they may have in mind by coming over.

"Hey Bomber," Bobby greeted with a big grin as I opened the door. "Thought you could use some down time."

I rolled my eyes at him. "I'm pretty sure I had enough down time last night," I reminded him. "Don't you think?"

"It's not gonna go that far tonight," Tank assured me. "Pizza, a couple beers, and the game. That's it. No liquor. No talking, unless you want to. We're just here to be supportive."

"None of you are on shift are you?" I asked, stepping to the side to allow them to pass. I had to suck my gut in and press myself into the wall to make enough room for Tank, but after that, I had the freedom to move and remove the pizza boxes from Lester's grips.

"Beautiful, come on," he said, shaking his head. "Do we look stupid?"

I eyed him critically from behind as I followed him into the kitchen. "Well…"

"Don't answer that," Lester instructed, spinning to take snatch the pizza back. "If you answer that I will not share my pizza with you."

Tank crossed his arms over his gargantuan chest and levelled a glare at Lester. "Who's pizza?" he asked. " _I_ paid for it."

"But it was my idea!" Lester countered.

"If you're going to argue you can all leave," I informed them, grabbing down my four mismatched plates from the cupboard and setting them on the table. "But the pizza can remain."

"I'd just like to point out," Bobby said, ripping open the six pack. "That I have not uttered a word since entering the apartment."

Lester rolled his eyes. "He says, uttering words within the apartment."

Deciding that friendly banter was better than a date with my laptop, I let the topic go. It was nice to be able to spend some time with the men who had become my friends in recent years. I hadn't slacked off with them since Hal's birthday when they invited me to join them for a raucous celebration at Shorty's. And that was two months ago. I didn't remember much of the night, but I do recall that I'd had a good time and hadn't thrown up in my sleep.

Flipping the lids of the two boxes open, Lester instructed, "You take what you want first, and we'll divvy up the left overs."

Bobby had four beers in one hand and my roll of paper towel in the other. "I'll go see if there's a game on," he announced, sidling out of the kitchen toward the living room. "Anything but the Ranger's right?" he called over his shoulder.

"Right," I replied, ignoring the flip of my stomach at the mention of Ranger and instead focusing my attention on inspecting my choices. They'd gone for two half-and-half's. One was half vegetarian, half Hawaiian. The other was half pepperoni, half meat lovers. I decided to skip the vegetarian and grab one each of the others, taking a second pepperoni just for the sake of avoiding arguments. If I left my fourth piece there, there would have been four each for the guys and one left over. I'd seen them tackle each other to the ground over the last piece of pizza, so I figured it was safest to not give them the opportunity.

When I entered the living room, I found the beers stationed on my coffee table, and Bobby leaning over my laptop, which I'd left open on the couch. "What are you doing?" I demanded.

"The logo caught my eye," he explained apologetically, straightening up. "My nephew does Karate with these guys. They're pretty good. Are you thinking of starting up?"

"Considering it," I confirmed, setting my plate down and closing the laptop to set it under the end table. "I'm just weighing my options at the moment."

"Is this because of-"

"Yes," I nodded, avoiding his gaze. "And I don't want to talk about it right now." Though I made a mental note to scratch that particular martial arts school off the list of possibilities. It sounded stupid, but I wanted to do this without the help and support of the guys and having the school approved by Bobby wasn't keeping with that goal.

"Okay, cool, that's fine," he said, holding up his hands in a defensive stance. "We'll just watch the game, yeah?"

"Yeah."

 _Go on, show a girl some love, I dare ya. More tomorrow, guaranteed._


	9. Chapter 9

_Thanks so much for all your reviews! I am once again posting before my morning shift, which seems like an ungodly hour these days. Hope you enjoy._

 **Chapter 9**

Sunday morning, in order to get a kick start on my new, better self, I woke up at six, already dressed in running shorts and loose t-shirt, and shoved my feet into sneakers. I was out the door and down the stairs before I'd even woken up, which was probably a good thing, because I hadn't spared so much as a single thought for the hallway murderer. Out in the parking lot I worked through some stretches I remembered from high school gym class and finished off with a few jumping jacks for good measure. The fact that I was practically out of breath before I'd even started running probably wasn't a good sign, but I soldiered on.

I kept my pace slow, jogging down streets, past silent houses and dark businesses until I reached McDonalds. By that point I was drenched in sweat and my breathing was laboured, so I decided it was time to stop for a breather. I wiped my face on the hem of the t-shirt and hoped I didn't smell too bad as I entered the fast food restaurant, still gasping for breath and ordered a bottle of water and a strong coffee. The pimple face teenage kid behind the counter had the good sense to hand me the bottle of water straight away, right after he asked if I was having a heart attack and if I wanted him to call the ambulance.

Guzzling my water, I just glared at him and moved to sit – more like collapse – into the nearest booth. I didn't know what I was thinking when I thought I could just go running and everything would be fine. Clearly, running was not for me. Now I had the dilemma of needing to get back to my apartment on legs that felt like jelly and feet that felt like they were on fire. Training was not all it was cracked up to be.

The kid brought over my coffee and a second bottle of water – on the house, because he didn't want me keeling over on his shift – and I thanked him. I sat there longer than I probably should have, because by the time I stood again, I was in a world of pain. If I'd just grabbed the water and made my way home again, I might have been able to avoid this kind of agony on the long walk back, but I hadn't known the results would be this bad.

I ended up hobbling all the way home, every step another stab of pain radiating up my legs, but it wasn't as far as I had thought. That made it worse. I'd only managed six blocks away from home. Talk about depressing.

When I finally arrived back at my apartment, I stripped and sat in the tub under the cold spray from the shower head for ten minutes until I started shivering, then turned the hot tap around and continued to sit, letting the warmth work through my sore muscles. I honestly didn't see how I was going to survive whatever training I eventually decided on – unless it was yoga, that seemed pretty safe. I could barely handle an hour of jogging and walking, let alone weeks or months, or – God forbid – years of training that it would take to get me up to the kind of ability I really needed to be great at my job.

Eventually, I found my legs and worked through washing the sweat from my body, then wrapped myself in a fluffy towel and went in search of food. While I was waiting for my toaster to offer up the Pop Tarts I'd fed it, I noticed the light blinking on the answering machine. Probably, it was my mother reminding me that I was expected at dinner tonight. Since it was Sunday. But I hit the button to listen to it anyway.

"Stephanie?" came a sing song voice. The roundness of her vowels was a dead giveaway that it was Aunt Beth. "Are you there? Did I wake you? Just calling to check up on you. Have you heard from the hunk yet? Call me when you can, dear. No hurry."

I smiled. Sometimes it was hard to believe that Aunt Beth was my mother's sister. She was always warm and careful not to pressure me into anything. The complete opposite of Mom's demanding nature. She was a world class pianist and had moved to England when I was nine to pursue an opportunity that had arisen with the London symphony orchestra. She sent me post cards every month for two years while she toured with them, but eventually we'd lost touch as I'd moved on to middle and then high school.

Recently, through the power of Facebook, she'd found me again and we'd gotten to chatting. She was curious about how my life had turned out, since we hadn't really had any contact since I was a child, and I asked her about travelling the world and playing in all the beautiful grand halls and churches I'd only ever seen on TV and the internet. I was awed by her worldliness, and she was intrigued by the chaos of my life. We now tried to call each other once a week or fortnight, depending on our schedules, and I was really enjoying talking to someone who wasn't so quick to judge me by my mistakes. She didn't seem pleased with the amount of carnage I attracted, but she didn't tell me I needed to change careers or be more aware of my surroundings or anything like that.

Taking the first bite of my Pop Tart, I decided to call her back. By my calculations it was it was mid- afternoon in London, and I didn't think she had any lessons or rehearsals on Sundays, so I she was probably home.

"Elizabeth Mazur speaking," she announced by way of greeting as she picked up on the fifth ring. "How may I help you?"

"Hey, Aunt Beth," I said, swallowing my latest bite. "It's Steph, how are you?"

"Stephanie!" she enthused, using my full name. She always used my full name, but unlike when Mom did, it didn't make me feel like I was in trouble. It was just the way she'd always addressed me. It was almost affectionate in a way that no one else had ever achieved with the three syllable name. "I'm so glad you called! It's always good to hear your voice."

See what I mean? Warm. Inviting. My mother would have been berating me for not picking up when she first called by now. "Yours too," I replied, genuinely meaning it. "How's London?"

"Wet, and drizzly, just like always," she informed me, but I could still hear the smile in her voice. "Perfect weather for staying indoors. What about good ol' Jersey?"

"Smog," I said. "Lots of smog."

She murmured agreement. "So, when last we spoke you were bemoaning over the fact that your dear boyfriend had been avoiding you. Is that still a thing? Has he come around?"

I shook my head, not particularly wanting to talk about the situation with Ranger, but I could never quite deny Aunt Beth. She had a way of making me talk. "I'm pretty sure he's not my boyfriend anymore," I explained slowly. "We had a bit of a clash."

"Relationships are full of clashes," she reminded me. "The key is to work through them. Unless you found him cheating. You didn't find this one with another woman as well, did you?" she asked.

"No," I sighed, setting my Pop Tart down. Suddenly, I wasn't hungry anymore. "He's just married to his work and…" I hesitated, wondering if she would understand if I explained the whole situation. She didn't know Ranger, other than from what I had told her about him, but she was always good for a new point of view. Maybe she'd have some advice that I could actually use. So I told her about Ranger's investors and the resulting decision and how he hadn't informed me of the drastic change and that was the reason he was avoiding me for the last three weeks.

When I finished, there was silence on the other end of the phone, and I worried for a moment that the connection had died while I was talking and I'd been relating my sordid tale to thin are for the last ten minutes. But the she let out a low murmur. "So you're not seeing him anymore?" she finally asked.

"Of course not," I said, a little louder than I'd intended. "He just pulled a major breach of trust. How am I supposed to continue on like nothing's happened when he pulled the rug out from under me three weeks ago and I had to find out from one of his men two days ago?"

"Did you give him a chance to explain?" she asked gently.

A frustrated growl forced its way out of my mouth. "I can't stand to look at him at the moment," I told her. "I need some time to come to terms with what he's done so that I don't feel like strangling him while he's talking."

"That's awfully violent."

"I can't help how I feel," I sighed. "But if it helps any, I probably wouldn't even get close enough to lay a finger on him. He's like smoke."

"So what are you doing in the meantime," she asked, sounding way more reasonable than I'd expected. For some reason, I thought she would launch into a lecture, but then again, this was mellow Aunt Beth, not uptight Mom. "While you come to terms?"

"I thought I might get some training," I sighed, glancing at the laptop that was still where I'd left it the night before after finding Bobby inspecting my internet browser. "But there's nothing in my price range around here that's going to do me any good."

"What kind of training?" she asked, her tone thoughtful.

"I don't know," I admitted. "Something that would make me better at catching skips. Probably some physical training, defence lessons, gun training, that sort of thing."

Aunt Beth let out a quiet little "hmmm" while I was listing the things I needed. "I might have an idea," she informed me. "I need to check a couple of things first though. I don't want to get your hopes up only to find it's not possible."

"That would be awesome," I said, honestly grateful that she might be able to help. The more I looked at everything on the internet the more overwhelmed I felt, and I was damn sure I would not be asking the guys for help. This endeavour was about standing on my own two feet and showing Ranger I could do it without him. That couldn't be achieved by allowing Tank, Bobby and Lester to call in favours for me. Aunt Beth's help, on the other hand, was familial support. The kind of thing that was expected.

"No problem, Stephanie," she assured me. "I should go chase this up. I'll let you know what I find."

"Thanks so much, Aunt Beth," I enthused. "I'll talk to you later."

 _More tomorrow. Same bat time (or maybe half an hour later, since I start slightly later tomorrow) same bat channel._


	10. Chapter 10

_As promised, here is my Wednesday morning update (prepared the night before so that all I had to do was hit upload). Please don't hate me at the end. I have a plan._

 **Chapter 10**

"Why do you need training?" Brandon Haze, retired British Army Staff Sergeant, father of one of my Aunt's most promising piano students, asked after he'd finished torturing me for an hour. We'd met at the oval of public high school in Philadelphia, because it was close to where he was staying on his business trip, and he'd gotten me to run three laps, followed by a bunch of jumping jacks, a plank and some push ups. Or not, as the case may be. I'd completely failed at that last component.

"To be better at my job," I panted, attempting to lever myself off the grass. Brandon, on the other hand, was perfectly capable of jumping up from his perfect push up position to sit on the nearby bench and put his sweat shirt back on.

He nodded thoughtfully while taking a long pull from is drink bottle – I hadn't even thought to bring one so would be stopping by the drinking fountain on my way out of the school. When he lowered it to the bench beside me he eyed me critically. "Bounty Hunting, right?" I nodded. "How long you been doing that?"

I thought for a moment, it was hard to keep track of time when you were Bounty Hunting because you schedule was never the same, but I was pretty sure I started six years ago, maybe seven. "About six years, I think?" I hedged.

"And you need _basic_ training?" he questioned, his brows shooting up his forehead. "Really?"

Having finally made it into a very unlady-like seated position on the ground, I shrugged. "I'm not very good at what I do."

"I can see that," he confirmed, nodding. "Then why are you still doing it?"

"Because I _like_ what I do," I explained. I didn't know how else to put it. I got enjoyment from solving the puzzles. The rolling garbage and being chased by lunatics, not so much.

Brandon was shaking his head now and had a complicated expression on his face that I couldn't quite interpret. It possibly part exasperation, but I couldn't be sure. I wasn't used to men who showed emotions on their face. "You like what _you do_?" he asked, emphasising the last two words as if to make a point. "Or you like the attention you receive from big buff men when you fuck up and they have to swoop in and save your arse?"

"What?!" So it _was_ exasperation.

He crossed his arms over his chest and regarded me with his head tilted ever so slightly to the side, the glint in his eye said he thought he had me all figured out. "Beth told me you want training because your boyfriend decided he couldn't sustain the funds it required to help you out of avoidable situations all the time," he informed me coolly.

"I..." I tried to tell him it was nothing like that, but realised it pretty much was.

"That true?" he asked.

I hesitated a few seconds before letting out a sigh. "Well, yeah," I said slowly, "But-"

"So who you doing this for?" he demanded. "Yourself? Doesn't seem likely. Your boyfriend, more likely. You wanna get back at him for what he did?"

I narrowed my eyes at him. "You're really rude, you know that?" I said. His attitude toward me had be superior since the moment he stepped out of his rented town car and strode across the oval with that slight limp. I couldn't believe Beth said this guy was willing to help me. He was acting more like he was willing to drive my self-esteem further into the ground.

"No," Brandon countered, ignoring, or unaware of my internal rant, even though I was practically shooting daggers with my eyes at this point. "I'm direct. And with good reason. First, I need to know what I'm working with before I agree to train you. And second, I'm due back at the conference in an hour. I don't have time to muck around."

"I'm doing this for me," I said firmly, staggering to my feet, the better to glare down at him.

Brandon lifted a single eye brow, challenging me. "Then why didn't you get the training six years ago?"

Without thought, I threw my hands out to the side. Frustration was getting the better of me. "I don't know," I told him. "I guess I didn't think I needed it."

"But now you do? Why is that?"

"Because I suck at my job!" I yelled, causing some pigeons that had been pecking at the ground nearby to scatter into the air, letting out their annoying little coos.

Brandon gave me a dubious look. "According to you," he reasoned out, "You've been sucking at your job for six years. What's changed?"

I didn't bother responding. He already knew the answer. All I could do was glare at him.

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and regarding me with a look I thought was conspiracy. "You wanna get back at your boyfriend, don't you?" His eyes narrowed just a touch and there was a slight curl to the corner of his mouth.

Thinking that he was hinting that he was all for getting back at traitor boyfriends, I gave a slow nod, holding his gaze.

Just like that, the spell was broken. Brandon's expression changed like the flick of a switch as he stood and grabbed his gym bag, preparing to leave. "Not a good enough reason," he informed me matter-of-factly. "Come back when you really mean it."

"Y-you want me to go back out there and get blown to smithereens?" I demanded, turning on my heels to hurry after him as he strode across the field.

"Statistically speaking," he said over his shoulder, never slowing his pace so that I was practically jogging to keep up. "Given the number of explosions you've already survived, I figure you would have already died in one if you were going to."

"You're infuriating," I exclaimed, unable to hold my cool for any longer, not that I'd been doing a great job at it already.

Brandon shrugged. "You're a brat," he countered.

A gasp caught me by surprise. How could he justify treating me like this? Making such snap decisions about me. He didn't even know me. We'd barely spoken! "How dare-" I started, intending on giving him a piece of my mind. It appeared he wasn't finished with his assessment of me, though, because he continued speaking before I could get a full sentence out.

"I shouldn't be surprised," he explained, starting up the stairs that had been set into the steep incline. "Youngest child, and all. Plus, from what I understand, you were never the favourite. And then there's the fact that you've been lording over a bunch of men for six years with no concern as to what they were giving up in order to pull your arse out of the fire every other week."

"I can't believe you!" I shouted, having stopped dead in my tracks at his explanation of my life.

He shrugged, opening the back door of the silver town car and tossing his bag in. "The feeling's mutual, love," he said calmly. "You're a real piece of work."

A growl escaped me so suddenly that I couldn't help by stomp my foot with the sound. It was as if the heavy fall of my foot was directly connected to the vibration in my throat. I noted Brandon's gaze trailing down to stare at the offending appendage, but ignored his bemused expression. "How am I supposed to prove to you that I'm in this for myself?"

"I'll know it by the look in your eye," he replied, opening the front door and leaning against the frame.

"Ugh!" Another impromptu sound escaped me. "Aunt Beth said you'd help me!" I reminded him.

He shook his head, a sad look in his eye. "I agreed to meet with you," he informed me. "Nothing more. I love Beth, she's a good friend and a fantastic role model for my daughter. You, on the other hand, need to get your priorities straight before I can do anything to help you. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to get back to my hotel and change before the next meeting."

And with that he slid behind the wheel, closing the door with a soft thud, and pulled away from the curb, leaving me in a cloud of dust. I had a feeling he didn't even bother to glance back. Asshole.

 _Okay, I'm just gonna go hide under this rock for a while..._


	11. Chapter 11

_You're in luck! I managed to finish this chapter off just before bedtime last night (while battling my new kitten for rights to the keyboard). Hope you enjoy it._

 **Chapter 11**

Utterly dejected after the complete flop that was my meeting with Brandon Haze, I made my way back to Trenton and threw myself straight into tracking my latest skip. Anthony Rosetti was arrested for possession of illegal substances – pot – and charged with assault on a police officer when he resisted arrest. To be fair, the police officer was attempting to lure him to the car using the brownies found in the kitchen. Rosetti – obviously high as a kite at the time - assumed that the officer was trying to steal said brownies and responded accordingly. I'd like to agree with everyone and say he was out of line, but come on! This is a person's baked goods we're talking about. You don't mess with baked goods. Especially when the owner themselves are baked.

I sat at my computer and typed his name into Google to see what would come up in a very basic search before I moved on to the programs I'd acquired from Ranger. I felt stupid using such a broad search engine, but the moment I hit send on my request, I squashed down my concerns. The first result that came up was Rosetti's Facebook page. I clicked through to his profile without hesitation and celebrated with a mini happy dance when I found that he had basically no privacy on the page. If he posted it there, anyone could see it. And he was the type to check in wherever he went!

Scrolling through the content of his page, I started noting down the places he'd checked-in in the last two weeks. McDonald's and Cluck in a Bucket were frequent, along with the movie theatre, but others that appeared fairly regular from the quick search I did of previous posts were the video game store on Hamilton on Wednesdays, the hobby shop at the mall on Fridays, and a questionable meeting hall on the north side of town on Saturday mornings to play Dungeons and Dragons – according to his about section he was a level 23 Druid who wielded the coveted Sword of Enlightenment. Whatever that meant.

Alongside that list, I added the people he frequently interacted with online, or tagged in his posts. On a few occasions I attempted to view their profiles as well, but no one was as stupid as Rosetti. I never got more than a profile pic and hometown, which was about as useful as a tennis racket when you needed an oar.

I knew from the information Connie had given me that he was unemployed, but I'd learned enough about his routine from my Facebook search that it didn't matter that he didn't have that easy, predictable routine of going to work every day. I decided to try and catch up with him at the video store, which meat I didn't really have anything to do until early afternoon the next day.

With my plan all squared away and my notes safely in the folder with the rest of my the information I had on Rosetti, I returned my attention to the problem of getting training. Aunt Beth's inherent helpfulness in the form of an arrogant man with a limp had fallen tough and I was on my own again until I could find a suitable and affordable tutor. The Merry Men would be more than willing to train me, I knew, but that wasn't the road I wanted to take. I wanted to show Ranger that I could do it on my own, and using his men wasn't going to achieve that.

I bookmarked a couple of boot camps that worked on fitness ad strength training and sent in a few enquiries to martial arts schools that offered a free trial before you signed up. It was a starting place, and I guess, and that was better than running to McDonald's every morning and then hobbling home.

8o8

The video game store was practically empty when I entered, apart from the cases lining the walls, the oversized inflatable character in the corner, the clerk and one customer. I'd tried to dress to blend so that I didn't stick out like a sore thumb, but with no one else in the story, I was kind of obvious. Working my way through the shelves, I took in some of the most violent covers I'd ever seen and couldn't believe they were able to have these out on display. Didn't kids come in here?

I was flipping through the discount bin, wondering what was so appealing about a game where everything had corners and the goal was to build more things with corners, when the clerk approached, his nerd glasses ever so slightly askew on his face.

"Can I help you ma'am?" he asked, his voice breaking slightly on the last word.

I shuddered. If there was one thing I couldn't take, it was being called ma'am. It made me feel like an old biddy. Ma'am were the ladies at golf clubs who were actually there to play golf, or strict headmistress type women with severe French Twists in their hair and pearls around their necks. Not a woman in jeans and a sweatshirt, staring blankly at x-box cases, trying to act like there wasn't pepper spray in her pocket, and handcuffs in her back.

"I'm looking for a gift for my nephew," I lied. I didn't have a nephew, obviously, and I certainly wasn't looking for a gift for said non-existent nephew. I _did,_ however, have a mother who would have grounded me – yes, even at the age of 37, eighteen years after I moved out of her house – for telling lies. She wasn't here to witness it, thought, so it didn't really matter. What mama don't know won't hurt her, and all that. Although, I should make a mental note to be careful where I lie, since she has eyes and ears all over Trenton.

"What's he into?" the guy asked, adjusting his glasses. "What system? X-Box? Playstation? PC? Nintendo DS? Wii?"

Wee? Really? That was a game system now? When I was a kid, the only wee's we had were the ones that were shouted as we came down the slide, the ones the littles pig said all the way home and the ones we did in the toilet. I cast my eye around, hoping I wasn't blowing my cover. "Ummm… X-Box I think?"

"Okay," he nodded, smiling a little. "You're in the right section at least. Is it an X-Box One? 360?"

"What's the difference?" I asked, genuinely curious. How could there be three hundred and sixty versions of the same gaming system?

"X-Box one is the most recent console," the guy explained. That didn't make sense to me, but then again Star Wars is all over the place as well, so I guess it worked. I put those thoughts out of my head, trying – and failing – to follow the rest of his explanation. It was a good thing I didn't need the information he was rattling off.

Eventually, I ended up interrupting him. My eyes had begun glazing over and I needed to be alert for the moment that Anthony Rosetti came through that door "I'm pretty sure he's had the same system for years, if his complaints were anything to go by."

"X-Box 360, then," he said, like he was agreeing. "Does his have a Kinect?" I stared at him blankly. "We'll just stick to regular, shall we?" he answered himself. "These are the games that apply to you. Have a look through and see if anything jumps out at you. I'll be around if you need any help."

I nodded my thanks and returned to the flipping I had been doing prior to his interruption. I worked through each of the long lines green plastic cases, pausing occasionally when something caught my eye. There were quite a few different Batman games, including a lego one.

Looking at Batman made me think of Ranger, because they were practically the same person, and that caused a bubble of anger to expand in my chest. I still couldn't believe he'd pulled the carpet out from under me without giving me a heads up. I could have gotten myself in a lot of strife and not had any back up to get me out of it. And technically, I was still flying around without back up, unless I happened to catch Tank, Bobby or Lester off shift when I was in a crisis.

Ten minutes later, when I'd managed to swallow my frustration, Rosetti finally turned up. I was so happy to be saved from the bemused glances of the clerk-nerd that I almost got my hand stuck in my pocket while making sure the spray and cuffs were ready and accessible. I'd just turned from the X-Box games, playing casual as I tracked him through the store to the back corner, when my phone rang.

I was torn. On the one hand, it wasn't every day that I was in the same room as a skip, but on the other, the phone call could be something important. I glanced at the read out. Not a number I recognised. But it wasn't overseas, so the likelihood of it being a telemarketer was significantly decreased. Rosetti seemed to be engrossed in whatever he was looking at, so I took the chance and swiped to receive the call.

"Stephanie Plum speaking," I announced.

"Ah, Ms. Plum," an unfamiliar voice greeted. "We've received an enquiry about a Tae Kwon Do free trial. Would that be for yourself or –"

"Yes," I confirmed quickly, glancing over my shoulder to check that Rosetti was still there. "It's for me."

"Excellent," she enthused. "I'd just like to ask a few questions to help us better place you in a class, do you have a moment?"

"Uh, yeah," I said. "Sure. Of course."

"Brilliant. First off, what is your age?"

"37."

"Good. Have you ever participated in any kind of martial arts before?"

I rolled my eyes, I'd put this information in my enquiry! "No, I haven't."

"Okay. No problem. On a scale of one to ten, how would you rate your fitness level?"

"Uhh…" This one I had to think about. I knew I wasn't a ten, but I wasn't necessarily a one, either. Ones were overweight people who got shortness of breath walking across the street. "Probably, I don't know, a five?" I hedged. It seemed about right. I was average fitness for the average, non-working-out, American. Right? Really, I had no idea.

"Fantastic. And what would you say your reasons for considering Tae Kwon Do? Fitness, Leisure, Discipline, or Competition?"

"Uh… Fitness and discipline, I gue- Shit!" The bell over the door had jingled, drawing my attention. While I was distracted by my phone call, Rosetti had apparently finished his browsing, paid for whatever purchases he may have chosen and left. Blast!

"Ma'am?" the woman on the other end of the line enquired. _Uhhhhhh_ , _why must everyone call me ma'am lately_. "Is everything alright?"

A sigh escaped my lips as I hurried to follow the skip out the door. "I just-," I tried to start explaining, searching the crowds on the sidewalk for signs of my skip, but he was nowhere to be seen. Just my luck. "You know what, never mind. Did you have any more questions?"

"No that seems to be it," she assured me. "Based on your answers, our Thursday night beginner session would suit you best. The lesson starts at 7.30pm and we recommend arriving ten minutes early to ensure you're ready to go on time. Please dress in loose clothing, something that's easy to move in. If you choose to continue lessons you will be presented with a uniform upon payment of your first term fees."

"Thanks," I said, still somewhat distracted. "Thursday, 7.30pm. I'll be there."

"Beautiful," she informed me. "See you then." And she was gone leaving me with dead air in my ear and a frustrated growl rising in my chest. Why could nothing go right for me lately?

 _I doubt I will have another update tomorrow. And I'm going away for the Queen's Birthday long weekend, so it will probably be at least midweek before I get more to you._


	12. Chapter 12

_I was not meaning to be away from the keyboard for so long! Like, omg. Distraction city over here. Marathon rehearsals, the hardest choreography I've ever had to deal with, show after show, drama at work... You name it, it's been thrown at me lately. And then to top it all off, I'm now sick. But the upside to lying in bed all morning on a Sunday is that the muse finally came to inspire me o write a chapter! You're welcome._

 **Chapter 12**

I arrived home from my first Tae Kwon Do lesson sweaty and sore and in need of a nice hot shower and a stiff drink. It was challenging, and I didn't even really understand the difference between a lot of the moves. I felt like the instructor spend the entire evening shouting at me to fix my arms or my feet, but when I looked left and right, I swear they were in the exact same position as everyone else's. That being said, I was glad I tried it. It was probably not for me, but at least I knew that now. I could move on to other styles of defence and fitness.

By the time I'd scrubbed the sweat from my body, slathered on some moisturiser to counteract the scrubbing and dragged on my boxers and an oversized t-shirt, I was practically sleep walking. I wasted no time in crawling into bed and pulling the covers over my head.

If you've ever half woken from a dream to find that your body is in that sleep paralysis state and you can't move, you probably know how I was feeling the next morning as I drifted back to consciousness. The only thing is, it wasn't sleep paralysis. I was fully awake, eyes open and everything, but my limbs felt like lead. I couldn't even lift my pinkie finger. Everything _hurt._ The smallest twitch sent agony rippling through my entire body so fast that I couldn't help but cry out.

I lay there, still as could be, for a minute, trying to pull together enough courage to brave the pain and walk to the bathroom. Then I lay there another hour waiting for that courage to be enough. By midday I'd managed to roll over onto my side and sob into my pillow while I pulled myself toward the edge of the bed. I had pain in parts of my body that I'd never even known existed.

Finally, I managed to stand and hobble into the bathroom. I sat down on the toilet, did my business and had a problem. I couldn't get up. My thighs were burning and my knees were weak. I was _stuck_ on the _toilet_. I'd like to say this was the most compromising situation I'd ever been in, but we all know about being handcuffed to the shower curtain rod, so there's no point in charades. Eventually, I managed to pull up my big girl panties – literally – and crawl to the kitchen where I dragged myself up onto a chair and googled post-exercise soreness remedies while wishing the coffee pot would turn itself on so I didn't have to move again.

An hour later I was on the couch surrounded by a myriad of snacks and drinks so I wouldn't have to move and covered in a blanket made up of all the ice packs I owned, which was more than I thought a normal person would have. I blamed it on the fact that every time I left the hospital they sent me with an ice pack. I had the remote in my hand and was flicking between reality TV reruns when my phone rang. The phone that I'd left four feet away on the coffee table.

A groan escaped my throat at the prospect of moving, but I did so anyway, dropping the icepacks all over the floor as I swung my legs off the couch. Moving was significantly easier than it had been this morning. I took that as a promising sign and slid the green circle across the screen to answer the call.

"Girl, where are you?" Lula demanded, and I could almost see her shoving her fist on her hip as she cocked her sassy head to the side.

"I'm in my living room," I responded honestly. "Why?"

Lula made a derisive sound that crackled over the phone. "I've been waiting for you to come to the office all day so I could share my big news with you."

"What big news?" I asked, genuinely curious. Lula's big news tended to be quite shocking and if I could find out what it was when I didn't have to try to school my face into an appropriately non-shocked expression, I was going to give it a go. Unfortunately, Lula was not the kind of person to share news over the phone.

"Come down to the office and I'll tell you," she informed me.

I shook my head, even though she couldn't see me and replied, "I can't." And then, on instinct, a lie fell out of my mouth. Telling Lula I couldn't move was out of the question. "I'm really busy. I've got a bunch of paperwork I need to do."

"Well, I could-" she started, but I cut her off.

"I'll see you first thing in the morning and we'll go after Grinley," I assured her, referring to the skip I'd mentioned I'd probably need back up for. I didn't like taking Lula out with me as a general rule. She was too brash, too quick to wave around her gun, too quick to twitch her trigger finger, but I needed to shut her up so I didn't have to leave the apartment.

*o*

First thing in the morning ended up being nine o'clock, by the time I'd stopped by the drugstore for some Deep Heat and ducked back home to rub it into my still muscles. I was still sore from my one Tae Kwon Do lesson two days ago, but at least it didn't feel like I was ripping myself apart every time I moved. Walking into the Bonds Office I thought I hid my hobble pretty well, but there was nothing I could do about the smell from the Deep Heat.

All my hopes of not being asked about the smell went out the window when Lula's head snapped up and I saw her nostrils flare. It wasn't Lula who got the first word out, though. From the bowels of the office, behind the shut-tight door, came Vinnie's voice.

"What's that smell?"

"Stephanie just turned up," Lula responded, raising an eyebrow at me.

The door to Vinnie's inner sanctum slammed open and he stood there in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest as he stared at me. "What's that smell?" he repeated.

"It's Vicks Vapo Rub," I explained, hoping the two smelled as similar to them as they did to me and that I could pull off this lie. I didn't particularly want to regale them with the story of my epic paralysis yesterday. "I have a cold."

Vinnie gazed at me for a moment more before turning to address Connie. "Anything she touches needs to be disinfected when she leaves," he informed her, like that would ensure she would clean the office. He didn't wait for a response, just turned and slammed the door.

"We really need to put a lock on the outside of that door," Lula pointed out. "A big ol' padlock that we can pinch closed whenever we don't wanna see his face."

Connie nodded. "I know what you mean," she agreed. "But the problem is getting the lock on there so he doesn't know."

"We could always get some of those stick on child locks," Lula suggested.

"Good idea," Connie said, "I'll order some right now." And she turned to start tapping on her keyboard.

I hiked my bag on my shoulder, trying not to cringe, and crossed to the couch, flopping down onto it and praying that I would be able to get up later. "So what's this big news?" I asked.

Rather than say anything, Lula made a dramatic turn to face me and flourished her hand in front of my face. It was her left hand. And there, on her ring finger, was, of all things, a plain gold band.

"What is this?" I asked, utterly confused. "What am I looking at?"

"I got married!" she squealed, shaking her hand for emphasis.

I was floored. What was I supposed to say to that? I didn't even know she was dating, let alone engaged. Lula usually shared all the details of her personal life – not having boundaries and all – but I hadn't heard about a man in Lula's life in months.

"To who?" I asked.

Surprisingly, Lula crossed her arms and pursed her lips. Was I supposed to know? "That's the only thing," Lula said. "I don't remember."

"What do you mean you don't remember?"

"Well," she explained. "I went to Atlantic City Thursday night to let off some steam. And I got a little… what's that sophisticated word for it? Intoxicated? But I definitely recall ending up at the Chapel of Love with a guy and saying _I Do_."

"Well who did you wake up beside yesterday?" I asked. "Surely you spent the wedding night with him?"

"Well." Lula pulled a slip of paper from inside her bra while I tried not to gag at the visual I received. "This was on the bedside table of the hotel room I woke up in." She handed me the paper and took it without hesitation, vowing to sanitise my hands like Vinnie wanted done to the office.

 _Honey Buns,_

 _I had to get back to my conference, but I'll meet you at the place where our eyes first met after it's over._

 _I long for Saturday Night,_

 _Your One Love._

"What kind of man doesn't sign off with their name?" Lula demanded, like it was my fault, or I might have the answer.

I shrugged. "Honestly, at least he left a note," I pointed out. "If it was Ranger he probably would have just left the keys to a mysterious black SUV he'd parked in the garage with instructions preprogramed into the GPS to get to his apartment building."

"You're right," Connie nodded. "That does sound like Ranger."

"So anyway," Lula said, pulling the focus back to her, "I need you to come with me to Atlantic City tonight and help me find my husband."

"Sure," I shrugged. "Why not?" It would like solving a mystery, something I tended to do on a regular basis, only this time, the likelihood of me getting shot was significantly lower. I could use a little time off.

"Great," Lula enthused. "We'll head off at three, do some scouting around, hopefully someone there will remember us."

I nodded, pushing off the couch and getting slowly to my feet. "Fantastic. In the meantime, what do you say we go get the jump on Grinley."

"You're not gonna yell at me about my gun, are you?" she asked, eyeing me as I walked past her to the door.

"That depends on if you pull it out when it's unnecessary," I pointed out. "You riding, or not?"

Lula snorted. "Of course I'm riding. Someone's gotta protect your skinny white ass."

 _They say good things come to those who wait, but I'm hoping you all won't have to wait so long for another chapter this time._


	13. Chapter 13

_You should all thank Rightytighty for this update, since she took the initiative to PM me and nag. Nagging gets you everywhere. Unless I'm in a bad mood, in which case nagging gets your head bitten off._

 **Chapter 13**

Things were going well. Ridiculously well. After just a couple of stops, we managed to secure a location for Thomas Grinley and were on our way there. He was charged with petty theft and possession of illicit substances – marijuana – and, according to his sister, chances were high that if we offered him a My Little Pony figurine he'd do anything for us. So after a quick trip to the mall to pick out the prettiest pony we could find, and a new outfit for Lula to meet her husband in, and a couple of chocolate shakes for the road, we were pulling up in front of a run-down set of flats. We found 2B without a problem and knocked, listening intently while a series of grumbles and footsteps drifted toward us.

"Yeah?" Thomas said by way of greeting as he thrust open the door. He didn't look too crash hot. His eyes were red rimmed and the stubble on his cheeks was definitely approaching the beard stage. Compared to his mug shot, this man looked like he was homeless.

"Thomas Grinley?" I asked, just to be sure it was actually him. Last thing I wanted to do was turn up at the cop shop with the wrong guy. That would do nothing for my reputation.

"That's me," he sighed. "What do you want? I'm in the middle of a marathon."

"You've, ah," I shifted the box in my hand to show him. "You've won a –" I double checked the name on the side. "You've won a Princess Celestia, um, doll."

His eyes lit up. "Really?" he enthused. He went to grab it, but I stepped out of his reach.

"Well," I corrected myself. "It's not quite as simple as that. You have to do one thing first."

Grinley's eyes followed the doll no matter where I shifted it to and his hands were making grabby gestures the same way a baby does for its favourite toy. "Anything," he breathed. "I'd do anything for Celestia. She's the greatest."

"You'll need to come with us," I instructed.

He nodded, and so did I, the indication we'd agreed on for Lula to put the cuffs on him. I was surprised she'd actually waited this long to slap one on his wrist. The old Lula would have tackled him to the ground by now, regardless of whether he was cooperating or not. Maybe married life was mellowing her, I thought on a chuckle.

"What are you laughing about?" Lula demanded, taking the pony from me and shoving Thomas in my direction so we could be on our way.

"Nothing," I lied. "Let's just get this done so we can change and head out."

"Good thinking," she agreed. "I'd like to spruce up a little before I meet my husband."

Thomas looked down at his cuffs and then back at me, a forlorn expression making his red rimmed eyes almost watery. "Do I still get Celestia?" he asked.

I rolled my eyes. Honestly, a grown man mourning over a pony doll meant for seven year olds, how much more ridiculous could you get? Instead of announce his pathetic status, I simply urged him down the front steps. "I'll give it to the desk clerk for safe keeping," I assured him as we reached the car.

We managed to get him into the backseat and all strapped in without incident. He didn't even hit his head on the way in, which is a new achievement for me. The amount of skips I've had in my backseat, swearing at me because I'd rammed their head into the door frame on the way in was actually almost as high as the number of skips I'd managed to bring in without Rangeman help. I'd just shut the door and was making my way around the car to jump in behind the wheel, Lula having already wedged herself into the passenger seat, when the I misjudged the height of the curb and face planted on the sidewalk.

I just laid there for a moment as the pain bloomed throughout my entire head. There was some more minor pain happening lower down in my body, around the ankle-shin-knee area, and again at the hand-wrist-shoulder region, but I couldn't really think past my face. As I rolled onto my back, I acknowledged that this was probably what it felt like to have your face dragged across a cheese grater, or citrus zester. My chin, seemed to have taken the brunt of the grazing, but the throb of my nose definitely let me know where I'd eventually landed. And then there was my forehead.

"Shit girl!" Lula's voice interrupted my mental pain catalogue. "You look like you've been through a meat grinder!"

Just what every girl wants to hear, I thought, but all I could utter was a dim, "Oww."

"Your nose is bleeding," Thomas Grinley added from the car, he must have managed to get the window down with his cuffed hands. "You should probably sit up. You're not supposed to tip your head back when you have a nose bleed."

I'd never heard that before, but I sat up anyway. Which sent a cascade of blood onto my shirt. _Fantastic._ I really liked this shirt. It was nice and loose, and soft and it was an awesome colour. Now it was going to have a horrible stain left on it, I could just tell. My blood _always_ stained.

"You need something to soak up the blood," Thomas said helpfully, leaning his head out the window. "Like a Kleenex or something. You got any Kleenex?"

With one hand under my nose to catch the steady drips, I used my other arms to wipe as much of the blood from my mouth as I could. "Maybe in my bag," I murmured, but Lula was already rummaging in her own purse.

"I _always_ got Kleenex," she announced. "You never know when you gonna need a Kleenex…" Her voice trailed off at the end, making doubt the validity of her words.

"What?" I asked, looking at her without moving my head.

"I don't have any Kleenex."

I let out a groan, which hurt almost as much as my impact had a few minutes earlier. "Check my bag," I suggested, gesturing to where it had landed when I fell. Half the contents were strewn across the sidewalk, no Kleenex in sight, but there was still a possibility that there was one or two hidden at the bottom. God only knew what shape they would be in, but at least it was only for catching blood, not applied directly to an open wound. The rummaging sound of Lula looking through the contents of my bag stopped, but there were no footsteps bringing her closer. "No Kleenex?" I asked, not even surprised.

"No Kleenex," she confirmed.

By now I was becoming aware of what felt like a trickle of sweat running down my forehead, but was more likely to be blood. At this rate I'd be lucky if I had any blood left by the end of the day.

"There's a few Cluck in a Bucket serviettes back here," Thomas informed us helpfully. "Will that do?"

"Fine," I said. "Pass them over. Lula, help me up. You're gonna need to drive."

"Where are we going?" Lula asked, hoisting me up by the armpits rather roughly. I'd thought most of the damage had been done to my face, but apparently the rest of my body wasn't faring too well either. Thomas held the serviettes out the window with both his cuffed hands and Lula passed them over to me before opening the front passenger dumping my bag in the foot well.

"Dropping Grinley. Picking up the receipt. Then home."

"You should probably go to the hospital," Grinley informed me. "That gash looks pretty nasty."

"Your face'll look pretty nasty if you keep running your mouth," Lula snapped as I lowered myself gingerly into the car. "Just shut up and sit tight."

I sighed, leaning back into the seat with relief. "He's just trying to help, Lula," I defended.

"Sorry," she said, shutting the door with a soft thud. When she slid in behind the wheel a moment later she explained, "I can't help it. I keep thinking about tonight and meeting my husband, and what he's gonna think of your face all smashed in like that."

"What does my face have to do with meeting your husband?" I asked, my voiced thick even to my own ears. I was actually surprised I hadn't started crying yet. Like, can my life get any worse?

Lula glanced at me as she plugged my keys into the ignition. "What's he gonna think of me if when he sees the company I'm keeping?"

I levelled a _seriously, you don't even know the guy_ look at her as best I could with the serviettes on my face and used the back of hand to smear more of the blood oozing from my forehead so that it didn't make it to my eyes. Lula didn't notice my expression, though. She was too busy trying to coax my car into starting. "Give it a bit more gas," I instructed.

"I know how to start a car," she retorted, but I noticed she gave it more gas anyway, and we were finally on our way.

The trip across town seemed to go in the blink of an eye, but that could have been because I could feel my face swelling and it was getting difficult to keep my eyes open fully. Despite her aversion to cops, Lula stayed with me as we got Thomas out of the car and lead him in. She even remembered to bring Princess Celestia. I was actually pretty proud of her.

"Oh my _GOD_ ," Robin exclaimed as we approached her. "Did he do this?"

"Of course I didn't," Thomas announced, suddenly sounding very haughty. "In fact, I was practically her paramedic."

One of the boys in blue standing nearby shook his head and dragged Thomas off. "Sure, whatever."

With all attention back on Robin, who was busily doing up my receipt, she asked, "So what happened?"

"I don't want to talk about it," I deadpanned, taking the receipt as soon as she was done and turning on my heel to head back out to the car. As much as I hated to admit it, I was probably going to need to go to the hospital. My usual fall back of just having Bobby look at it was not going to work so well, especially since I knew for a fact that he didn't get off shift until late tonight. By that time all sorts of things could have happened to my face.

As the door was swinging shut behind me, I heard Lula's would-be whisper, "She tripped on the curb. Oh, and this is Thomas's."

Rather than wait around by the door for her, I made my way to the car and situated myself in the passenger seat, dumping my now sopping serviettes onto the black top of the parking lot and digging another out of the glove compartment. By the time Lula joined me again, the sound of laughter could clearly be heard from the cops inside. Guffaws. At my expense.

I hate my life.

*o*

An hour later I was sitting alone in the emergency waiting room. Lula had called Connie to come pick her up, at my insistence. She was still freaking out about meeting her supposed husband later tonight and being stuck in a room full of sick and injured people wasn't helping matters. After she practically ripped my arm off when someone sneezed in our general direction, I ordered her to go home, take a bath and get ready for tonight. I'd call her when I was through here and we'd be on our way. Hopefully.

I'd filled out all the paperwork the nurse had given me, and my nose had finally stopped bleeding, but my face still caned.

For a lack of anything better to do, I made my way down the hall to the dodgy vending machine I knew was there and whacked it three times in the sweet spot until it spit out a snack, then ate it on my way to the bathroom. I didn't need to go, I just wanted to get a decent look at my face. The gash in my head was fairly substantial, as far as I could tell, but the chin graze was just that. What I was most concerned about was my nose, and what it was doing to my face as a whole. Already I could see purple bruises blooming around my eyes. And I still felt puffy. I prodded gently at my cheeks for a moment before deciding I should get back to the waiting room in case they called me up.

When I stepped through the swinging door from the hall, however, I immediately wished I'd stayed in the bathroom. The one person I absolutely did _not_ want to see right now was at the nurse's station, probably demanding to know where I was.

"Ranger leeb the poor guy alone," I sighed. My voice was soft. The situation with my nose causing some consonant sounds to be mixed up. But even though the room was quite noisy, I knew he'd heard me. He turned around immediately a relieved expression quickly melting from his face as he got his first visual.

"Babe," he uttered, crossing the room in three strides.

I shook my head. "Don't _Babe_ me, Ranger," I snarled, crossing my arms over my chest. "You have no right."

"Last I checked I had the right to be concerned for your wellbeing," he informed me, lifting a hand like he was about to cup my cheek, but clearly thinking better of it as he dropped it back to his side. "What even happened? Robin said you tripped?"

"So wordy all of a sudden," I scolded, brushing past his arm to return to my seat. "Where was that two weeks ago?"

"I've tried to explain to you -"

"Too little, too late," I interrupted.

At that moment, the automatic doors opened and Bobby stepped through, rubbing a hand over his stubbly head as he glanced around. It was obvious what he was looking for. Me. And what he found was no expected. Ranger. Honestly. I wasn't expecting Ranger either, especially since it took an hour after the news hit someone other than Lula for him to show his face. Usually, if he was going to turn up at all it was in the first few minutes after the actual incident or late that night when he thought I was sleeping.

This new side of Ranger was really screwing me.

"Ranger," Bobby said, crossing to stand beside me. "What are you doing here?"

Ranger gave Bobby a cursory glance, sending a pointed eyebrow at his attire. "What am _I_ doing here?" he replied. "What are _you_ doing here? Or have you forgotten your contract already?"

I wanted to punch him in the face. It was a bizarre and frightening feeling. I'd never felt such anger toward Ranger, and I knew if I acted on my urges I'd need the doctor who eventually saw me for my face to look at my hand as well. It wasn't worth it.

Bobby crossed his arms, his feet planted firmly on the floor. "My contract states that I am not to aid on Stephanie Plum in her Bounty Hunting endeavours while the Rangeman uniform is on my back," he said. "I think you'll find that I am not aiding any endeavours here, I'm simply checking up on her as a concerned friend. Perhaps you didn't recognise the gesture, since you've been too far up your own ass lately to pay attention to your own girlfriend."

"I think you should leave," Ranger said softly but with so much intensity that I could feel every eye in the emergency room on us. The nurse behind the desk probably had her hand on the button to call security already.

"I think you should both leave before you get thrown out," I mentioned.

"I'm not leaving until he does," Bobby said, eyes locked on Rangers. They were shooting daggers for sure. If it lasted another minute or so, the hospital was likely to catch fire.

Ranger quirked his eyebrow again. "She said for both of us to leave," he retorted.

"Because she doesn't want me to get hurt," Bobby explained patiently, like you would a particularly slow child. "Friends look out for friends."

"She's my-"

"Time to go, boys," I interrupted. Because 1) I didn't need to hear him claiming me as his girlfriend. We most definitely weren't. And 2) Security had arrived to escort them out. I would have loved to encourage Bobby to stay, since I still didn't like hospitals, no matter how voluntary my visit, but I didn't want to create any more havoc between the men than they'd already done for themselves. Probably, they were going to spend a rather tense hour on the mats the next morning, and there would be no medic on standby in case Ranger lost his temper completely.

The men looked over the shoulders to the supposedly intimidating security guard, who happened to be half their size, and simply nodded, turning in unison to exit the building. As soon as they were through the doors, Bobby stopped and they had a short, terse looking conversation before Ranger shook his head and walked away. Bobby immediately pulled out his phone and a moment later my own was ringing.

"Bobby?" I greeted.

"I'll be in the parking lot," he informed me. "In case he returns."

"You don't need to do that," I assured him.

"I know," he replied. "Ranger would be an idiot to return here. But I also wanted to make sure you're alright."

"I'll call you when I'm done," I promised.

I saw him shake his head. "Not good enough," he said. "I need to examine your injuries myself."

A sigh left my lips before I could stop it. "Fine."

 _Ranger just kept getting bitchier and bitchier. I couldn't stop him... God Damn, man, get a grip. This is all your fault anyway._


	14. Chapter 14

The feedback you've all given me is phenomenal and most of it gives me something to consider that me and my support system didn't think of.

 **Chapter 14**

Just as he'd promised, Bobby was in the hospital parking lot when I emerged into the mid afternoon sun hours later. It hadn't taken all that long to be seen to after he and Ranger left me in the waiting room. What _had_ taken a while was waiting for, and undergoing, the CT scan to be sure there was no extra damage done than they could see with the basic x-ray. I wasn't thrilled about having to lie still while they did their thing, but I knew they were just doing their jobs. I also knew that if I told Bobby they'd suggested extra tests and I'd refused he would have my head personally.

As I approached the black SUV, Bobby exited the vehicle and met at the front.

"Well?" he asked, standing a couple of feet away with his hands in his pockets. I'd never seen this stance before. I was so used to seeing the men in my life with their arms either by their sides or crossed over their big muscled chests that this pocket business had me more confused than Ranger showing up in the emergency room had.

"Broken nose," I explained with a shrug, gesturing to the offending, swollen and discoloured feature. "Nothing more serious than that."

He eyed me carefully, probably trying to decide if I was lying, and did this weird little rock toward me like he wanted to examine it himself but wasn't entirely sure where the line was on that kind of thing at the moment. I couldn't blame him. After all, his boss was telling him to leave me the hell alone, his medic training was telling him to make sure I was all right. And then there was the part of him that was my friend. God only knows what that part of him was saying.

"They sure?" he asked after a long moment.

I dug the report out of my pocket and handed it to him. "I got the doctor to give me a full written report for your benefit," I said, handing it over. "And my scans are in my bag if you want to look at them." Anything to avoid another physical examination. Don't get me wrong, Bobby is the gentlest medical type person I'd ever known, but I'd had enough prodding at my face today to last me a lifetime.

With a short nod, Bobby glanced quickly over the messily written note before shoving it into his own pocket and taking a second to allow his gaze to roam over my face once more. "Forehead?" he asked.

I could have sworn the doctor had included that in the note, but I explained anyway. "Not as bad as I thought it might be," I admitted. "They agreed to no stitches. Just butterfly strips." And because I felt sure I knew what would escape his mouth next, I added. "The chin is just a graze."

He nodded again and slipped his hands back into his pockets. "Anything else? Knees? Hands? Ankles? Back?"

"Knees are a little sore," I admitted. "But the doctor said they should be fine in a day or two."

"So what actually happened?" Bobby asked, leaning a hip against the front of the car. "Robin said you tripped?"

A sigh fell from my lips as I mirrored his position, arms crossed over my chest. If he wasn't going to do it, I would. "The whole burg probably knows by now," I moaned.

"Probably," he agreed.

I sent him the best death glare I could manage with my face still hurting. "Not helping," I told him.

He didn't apologise. In fact, he surprised me by letting out a soft chuckle. Bobby was a very serious guy. Almost as serious as Tank and far more serious than Ranger was, even when I first met him. So to hear him chuckle was a rare and unusual thing. "You don't know how to things by halves, do you?" he asked.

Rolling my eyes, I couldn't help but join in his laugh. "You know what they say: _Go big or go home._ "

"Or in your case," Bobby corrected, "Go big _and_ go home."

I shook my head. "Go big and go to the hospital, more like," I said, hiking my thumb over my shoulder toward the building in question.

"Good point," he agreed. "Can I give you a lift home? Or is your rusted green death trap hidden around here somewhere? Not that I think you should be driving at the moment anyway, but still." He glanced around like my car could be lurking behind a pole or something.

"Lula took my car back to the Bonds office," I explained. "Could you drop me there?"

Bobby seemed to consider this a moment, then glanced at his watch. "How about I take you straight home and have Hal and Cal drop your car off in an hour?"

"First of all," I said. "Ranger would probably have a fit if he knew you were ordering his men around to help me behind his back. Haven't you heard about his new No Help Stephanie policies? And second," I checked the time myself and groaned. "I'm meant to be heading out to the shore to meet Lula's husband right about now."

Finally, Bobby removed his hands from his pockets and crossed them over his chest. Normally this would have made me a little apprehensive, but given the circumstances, the familiarity was a relief. "First of all," he said, mimicking me. "I don't give a shit what Ranger thinks. He can treat you and everyone else like shit all he wants, but I'm not going to stand by his decisions and pretend they're right." He paused, looking me straight in the eye as if willing me to comprehend the weight of his decision. "Ranger can fire me seven ways to Sunday," he added. "I stick by my friends. And second. Do you really think you should be going out with- Wait… Lula's _husband?_ "

"It's a long story," I sighed.

"I've got time," he assured me.

"I don't even know where to begin."

*o*

I managed to explain the Lula situation on the way to my apartment. I still wasn't sure I understood ow something like this could happen, and Bobby seemed to be right along the same lines. He kept shaking his head and muttering under his breath as I told him everything I knew.

"So wait," he said, steering the SUV into a parking space close to the entrance of my building. "You're trying to tell me that Lula – cast iron gut, Lula – got so wasted that she doesn't remember who she met and married?"

"That's what it seems like," I nodded.

"Not even a name?" he pressed.

"Nope."

The car was stationary. This is where I usually give an encouraging smile and jump out of the car, but I couldn't seem to bring myself to do it after the day I'd had. Turns out it wasn't my irresponsibility on the job, or my enemies that got me injured for the first time in the absence of Rangeman's help. It was my two left feet. The world was cruel. "I should grab a shower. Lula's gonna be here any minute and I have to do some damage control on my face so I don't scare her elusive husband off."

Bobby was quiet for a minute, which was enough to glue me to the seat. I was expecting him to tell me to be careful and be done with it. The fact that he'd said nothing thus far made me think he was probably trying to phrase something important in his head. "Gentle with your face," he warned me. "Just because the fractures isn't misaligned doesn't mean you can't easily do so with a makeup brush."

I nodded that I understood, but I wasn't sure how much cover up I could do without touching my nose. I mean, I could use the mineral make up Val gave me for Christmas, but I wasn't even sure it worked, let alone provided a full enough coverage to hide the deep purple bruising covering the centre of my face.

"Also," he added, turning to face me more fully. "How do you feel about me trailing you tonight?" I opened my mouth to respond but he sped on, cutting me off. "Before you answer, I'll keep my distance, let you do your thing. I just want to be close by in case this guy turns out to be a whack job."

Honestly, I didn't know what to say. I was thinking back over the six years I'd know the Rangemen and I couldn't think of a single instance where I'd been asked if I was okay with a tail. And considering the amount of times I'd ended up with a tail, that was a concerning realisation. "I don't-" I started, but couldn't think how I was intending on finishing the sentence, so I fell back into silence.

Bobby nodded, averting his eyes to the back of the parking lot, his blank face in place. "That's fine," he said. "I-."

But I didn't let him finish. He was acting like I was blowing him off, which was the exact opposite. I was all for him tagging along, I had my own reservations about any guy who would decide to marry a very intoxicated, brash, plus size woman on the same night they met. "Bobby," I said. "I was gonna say I don't think anyone's ever taken the time to ask me before."

His eyebrows rose to meet his close cropped hairline. "Really?"

"Really," I assured him.

"I find that hard to believe," Bobby said, lowering just one of his eyebrows to create a dubious expression on the face that was so blank a few seconds ago.

I would have attempted to mirror his look if it weren't for the fact that my face still hurt, and I still had not worked out how to lift just one eyebrow. "Really?" I asked. "How long have you known Ranger? He does what he wants, no matter what everyone else thinks."

"True," he agreed.

At that moment, Lula's Firebird roared into the parking lot. She pulled into a space three rows back and immediately got out. She was in fire engine red from top to toe. In the few hours since I'd seen her she'd managed to get red highlights in her hair. Her lips were crimson. She wore a red skater dress with lace sleeve detail. And red suede boots. And can you believe, it didn't look all that horrible on her? Probably, I was so used to the brightly coloured tube top and skirt combos that the fact that it was all one colour and there was no chance of a mid-drift was a relief on the eye.

She marched straight over to my door and peered in as I powered down the window. "You coming or not?" she demanded.

"Coming," I said firmly. "I just need a quick shower and some time to do a quick cover up."

Lula nodded and reached into her bag. "This should help," she said, holding up a bottle of Sephora airbrush foundation for me to see. "Get your ass upstairs and into the shower. I'll fix your face good as new." As if to make her point abundantly clear, she reefed the car door open and pointed with a stiff arm toward the building. As I was scurrying away I heard her ask Bobby, "You doing some babysitting tonight?"

Bobby's voice was almost inaudible as I paused at the door. "If Steph agrees I'd like to be there just in case something goes wrong."

"You're the doctor one, right?"

That was all I could wait to listen in on, I really did need to get in the shower. I just hoped that Lula new what she was doing with that foundation.

 _Coming up next: We finally meet Lula's husband._


	15. Chapter 15

_Because this was the most nagged long running story, and I already had the beginnings of a chapter written, I decided to take some time this morning and get an update ready. Thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed so far. And an extra thank you for being impatiently-patient with me._

 **Chapter 15**

As it turns out, Lula knew _exactly_ what she was doing with the airbrush foundation, and actually managed to eliminate most, if not all, of the bruising discoloration from my face with no extra pain. She explained that with the amount of times she'd been beaten up on the streets and then had to turn around and go work her corner, she'd learned a few tricks to a flawless, painless face. She also understood that, being that the injury was fresh, I was probably more inclined to stay home and sleep, and thanked me in her own way for putting on a brave face to do this with her. In reality, if I stayed home, I probably would have just cried. I'd somehow managed to keep all tears locked up inside thus far, but I was pretty sure it was only because I didn't want to be seen crying in public. Again.

"We'll take this with us just in case," Lula mentioned, tucking the Sephora back into her purse. "They give you painkillers?" I nodded. "You take them yet?"

"They said they may cause drowsiness," I said by way of explanation. I'd have given anything to just down a couple of pills and curl up in bed, but I wanted to be there for Lula. And she was being so careful and helpful that I almost felt obligated.

"They always do," she said, nodding as she primped her own hair now that she'd done everything she could for my appearance. We'd even managed to find a flesh coloured bandaid for my chin and a soft bandana headband to cover up the unsightly, white gauze on my forehead. "I spoke to the man in black downstairs and he gave me these for you. Non-drowsy, but with the same kick ass powers as the stuff they give you at the hospital. You gotta take it with food, though."

I nodded my understanding, stunned that Lula could be so thoughtful, and made my way to the kitchen with the little vial that had Bobby's handwriting on the side. My intention had been to grab a quick sandwich and bottle of water for the road, but Lula, once again, proved what a great friend she really was by announcing, "There's donuts waiting downstairs."

"You're too good to me," I mumbled, taking a swig of the water as I crossed the kitchen again to grab my handbag. "If you weren't already married, I'd probably propose," I added as a joke.

Unfortunately, despite all her helpfulness in the last half hour, she was still obviously worried about tonight, as evidenced by her eye starting to twitch. "Yeah," she said. "We should get going."

*o*

I must have fallen asleep at some point between finishing the donuts (with Lula's help) and arriving at the casino where Lula was fairly confident she probably met the guy she married, because the next thing I knew there was a gentle hand shaking my shoulder and calling my name. It was Lula.

"Come on, white girl," she saying. "You gotta wake up."

"Hmm?" I mumbled, giving a bit of a stretch. "Sorry," I told her. "I didn't mean to fall asleep."

"It's fine," she assured me. "But you gotta be awake now, because we've been sitting in the car without getting out long enough that Mr. Medic has gotten out of his and is coming over."

I was confused for a minute about what she was talking about. Mr. Medic? Then I turned my head to glance out the window and, through a stab of pain, I saw a man in black, lit by the street lamp he was passing under. "Oh," I sighed. "Bobby."

"Yeah," Lula agreed. "Bobby. What's going on with you and the men in black at the moment? Wouldn't Batman usually join a mission like this?"

"Ranger and I aren't exactly on speaking terms right now," I told her flatly. "We had a bit of a disagreement."

She raised a well shaped brow at me in the semi dark. "A bit of?" She questioned dubiously. "A bit of a disagreement end is hot make up sex. If you're not speaking that's more than a bit of a disagreement. And with Batman it has to be major."

"I don't want to talk about it right now," I informed her, noting how close Bobby was now – how far away did he park? "It's depressing and tonight is about you."

"Shit," she muttered. "It is, isn't it. Shit. Fuck. I got married."

As Lula started hyperventilating, Bobby arrived, tapping on the passenger window to get my attention. I opened the door to greet him.

"Everything okay?" he asked. I could see the lines of worry around his eyes as his gaze skipped from me to Lula and back. Tension was curling around his every muscle. Probably, he was ready to heft me out of Lula's car and into his Rangeman SUV to take me straight back home if I gave even the slightest indication that I wasn't okay.

"Lula's just having a freak out," I pointed out with as much of a smile as I could manage with the pain in my face. "We'll be out in a sec." He gave me a look like he was waiting for me to spill the rest of the story, but I gave another smile and squeezed his arm reassuringly. "We're fine, Bobby," I told him softly. "I promise."

"If you start to feel dizzy or-"

"You'll be the first to know," I cut him off.

"I can't do this," Lula interrupted, banging her head against the steering wheel. "What if he's a- a-…"

"I'm sure he's not a murderer or anything like that, Lula."

"A yacht club boy?" she burst. "What if he's one of those namby-pamby rich guys with the boat shoes and the yacht club and the sweater draped around his neck like an asshole?!"

Bobby let out a short laugh, some of the tension releasing from his body. "I doubt, even drunk, you would have gone for that type, Lula," he said. "And if, by some twist of fate, he is, then there's got to be a reason you fell for him. I suggest we just get in there and get this over with. You'll never know until you met him."

"Again," I added with a smirk.

"You're right," she agreed, nodding emphatically. "I need to just do it." Thrusting out the door, she stood from the car and adjusted her outfit, plumping up her hair and checking her breath while I levered myself out more slowly. My knees were still quite sore, and apparently the inactivity of the drive had seized them up, making them stiff and difficult to work with. I had to grab the door and the roof of the car to keep from toppling over as straightened and found that my legs didn't want to take my weight.

Bobby was there in the blink of an eye, an arm wrapping around my waist to support me as I found my feet again. "Steph?" he questioned.

"I'm fine," I assured him. "Just went a little weak kneed."

"Are you sure you'll be okay?" he asked. I don't think I'd ever heard so much worry in his voice. But then, I realised, aside from being shot, this was the worst I'd been injured since meeting him. "Do you need-"

"Bobby," I said, interrupting what was obviously going to be him suggesting he take me home. I couldn't do that to Lula. Not like this. She may have abandoned me in the face of disaster when the police had arrived more times than I can count, but today she'd made up for it with her care and concern. It was the least I could do to be with her while she met her husband for the first time (in memory). "What I need right now is to stay with my friend and support her through this difficult time."

He gave me a look that I couldn't quite read. "So you're just ignoring your own health and wellbeing because Lula got drunk and married and is now freaking out?"

"No," I responded, taking back my weight to stand a little straighter, relieved when my legs decided to hold me up this time. "I went to the hospital. I got checked out. Yes, I'm still in pain and should probably be resting. But I'm not willing to leave my friend until I've had a look at this husband of hers and determined if he is or is not likely to murder her while she's in a post-orgasmic stupor. As soon as I'm comfortable with leaving her with the man I'll let you take me home. I will take any medications you tell me to and go to any check up appointments you insist on. But right now, my friend needs me."

Nodding, he slowly released my waist and stepped back, assessing my solo-stability. Another small nod and he shoved his hands in his pockets. _Again!_ What was with him and the pockets today? "You're a good friend, Steph," he informed me quietly. "Noble. But one of these days you're going to have to start putting yourself first."

I shook my head in denial of his statement. "I'm pretty sure this feud with Ranger is because _too many_ people have been putting me first. I'm happy to let Lula have the spotlight for tonight."

"Ranger's an idiot," he muttered under his breath, taking another step back. I have a feeling I wasn't meant to hear that bit. "If you need me, I'll be nearby," he informed me. "I won't interfere unless you ask me to, or if I recognise him as a known criminal."

"What?" I asked, confused.

"What?" he responded, appearing confused by my confusion.

I sighed and went to pinch the bridge of my nose before remembering that that was a bad idea. "I'm sorry," I told him. "I was being selfish. Again. Still. I, I was just hoping that you would maybe stay with me."

Another expression crossed his face then. It was a mix of several thoughts and emotions, but I didn't have time to unravel it before he turned away briefly. And when he turned back his face was almost blank. "I asked to trail you," he explained. "Not to tag along. I don't want to cramp your style. I can join you on the front line if you like."

At that moment, Lula interrupted us. She'd hung back to give us some space for long enough, it appeared. "We need to get this over with before I climb back in that car and drive all the way across the country to get away from this," she informed us. "Mr. Medic, stick with Steph so she doesn't trip on anything else and mess up the rest of her face." A pause while she glanced between us, then she added as an afterthought, "Please."

Lula was _really_ out of sorts. She never said please. She and Ranger had that in common, if nothing else. She tugged her dress again, nervously. I glanced at Bobby. He nodded and offered me his arm. I took it, then grabbed Lula's hand to drag her along with us the first few feet until I was sure she was definitely coming with us. It wasn't like I could finish this mission without her. We weren't meeting _my_ mysterious husband, after all.

We entered the Casino through the grand front entrance and just sort of stood there for a minute. I was waiting for Lula to take charge and lead the way to wherever we needed to meet her man. Bobby was waiting for me to move so that he could follow. Lula was standing stock still, her gaze darting around and looking simultaneously like a deer in headlights and like she was about to dart back out the doors and abandon us.

"Where are we headed, Lula?" I prompted lightly.

"I don't know," she whispered.

"Well, what's the last thing you remember of the night?" Bobby suggested.

"I was playing Blackjack," she said firmly. "I think."

"Well let's head to the Blackjack tables then," I said, leading the way away from the doors to allow the flow of traffic to resume it's normal lines. Bobby was still attached to my side, so I had no doubt that he was with me, but I had to glance over my shoulder to be sure Lula was following. She was. She was actually sticking quite close, her eyes still darting around nervously. "Lula, you've gotta relax," I told her gently. "If you don't cool it with the eyes someone's going to think you're here to rob the place, or something. I'm sure you'll know your husband when you see him."

"Really?"

"If not, he'll recognise you," I affirmed.

"Right," she agreed reluctantly. "Play it cool, Lula. You are a punk-ass woman. You don't need no man's approval to get through life."

She was nervous about the guy's approval? That made my heart do a little flip. She was a wreck over this man and she didn't even know who it was yet. I shared a look with Bobby, who appeared to be attempting not to grin. A stark difference from the solemnity of the car park a few minutes ago. Lula's antics were amusing him.

"That's the spirit, Lula," he encouraged her over his shoulder.

There was no reply, though. I glanced back, hoping she hadn't suddenly turned tail and done a dash out the doors, but what I found stopped me dead in my tracks. She had that deer in the headlights look again as I turned around to view the scene more clearly. Several feet away, clad in an amazingly tailored navy suit, was a man that I was seriously hoping was not a rapist or a murderer, because he was gorgeous, and looking at Lula like she was the last donut in the box that he wasn't allowed to touch. All longing and desire.

"Lula," he breathed, quickly closing the gap between them. "My love. My life. My always." He kissed her thoroughly on the mouth. "I missed you," he informed her, tenderly stroking her face from temple to jawline.

"I-I-…." Lula stuttered, her cheeks reddening.

Mr. Lula's-Husband's face dropped, concern infusing his expression as he pulled back a little. "I'm so sorry," he told her, loosening his grip and stepping back a little. "I knew this would happen."

"I had a feeling you were too drunk that night," he explained. "I wanted to wait. To date you. To do it right. But you insisted. You said that dating me wasn't going to change your mind. That you'd found the one and your life wouldn't be complete until we were wed. I was so relieved that you felt the same way that I agreed. But-" he hung his head. "You've changed your mind, after all, haven't you?"

"I-I-…." Lula repeated, her mouth working to make other words. I'd never seen her this speechless. "I-…I-"

"It's okay, Lula. I understand. You don't have to say it. We'll have the marriage annulled."

"Buh- I-…"

"Is she blushing?" Bobby asked, sounding like he was stifling chuckle. "She's totally smitten."

"Yes," I hissed. "And he doesn't even realise! We have to do something!"

"Can't we watch her struggle a little longer?" Bobby said, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Bobby," I said firmly. "What you are witnessing right now, it's called love. If we don't save her she may find herself divorced and miserable. Like me."

"I don't think you're all that miserable," Bobby countered.

I rolled my eyes. "Have you looked at my life lately? It's all misery. I can't let that happen to Lula." Stepping forward, I laid a hand on Lula's arm. "Is this him?" I asked, forcing some excitement into my tone. Lula nodded, her jaw hanging open slightly. With one hand, I gently closed her mouth – it wouldn't do to let her drool in front of the love of her life. The other, I extended to the man, meeting his worried gaze. "Hi," I greeted. "I'm Stephanie, Lula's friend. You must be-"

He shook his head. "You don't have to do this, Stephanie," he assured me, even while he took my hand to shake. "I can recognise shock and rejection when I see it. She doesn't want me. She only came tonight to tell me so."

"You're wrong," I told him firmly. "I've known Lula a long time. We've been through a lot together. If she was rejecting you, she would have just come out and said it. She has this problem with keeping brash thoughts inside her head." I gestured to Lula. "What you're witnessing right now? This speechlessness? The blush? I've never seen that happen before. Ever. She's clearly in love you."

"You're just saying that to-"

"I'm really not," I assured him. "It's true, Lula was so drunk the other night that she doesn't recall anything that happened after playing Blackjack, but she has been nervous as hell about meeting you," I explained. "Lula doesn't do nervous or blushy. And she certainly doesn't do demure outfits like what she's wearing. She picked it out because she wanted to make a good impression on you. So please, step back over here, kiss her and promise you'll never let her go. That she will forever be Mrs. – uh – what's your name?

"Ladecky," he responded, appearing shell shocked. "Louis Ladecky. Are you sure that's love on her face?"

"Absolutely certain."

He nodded and stepped around me and I returned to Bobby's side, giving them the illusion of privacy. They had a short, quiet conversation, during which Lula didn't do much talking – apparently still to love struck to find her voice – but there was a lot of nodding, and starry eyed gazing. And finally, he took her in his arms, locked their lips together and she melted against him.

"I think my job here is done," I told Bobby after a while when they still hadn't come up for air. "We can probably leave now." But just as we were fading into the crowd to make our exit, Lula appeared before me, Louis trailing behind her by the hand. Her cheeks were flushed and there was excitement in her eyes.

"Thank you," she intoned. "White girl, I owe you the moon. You've gotta join us for dinner."

"Please," Louis added, smiling.

 _ **I can't promise regular updates. But I will attempt to make an effort to keep things going.**_


	16. Chapter 16

_And here we have the product of two post performance wind downs. Friday evening was opening night for my choir's Theatre Restaurant - our big production every year - and when I arrived home at eleven thirty, my mind was still a hive of activity. I decided to channel that energy into writing for you all._

 **Chapter 16**

Bobby and I didn't end up staying long at dinner. Now that the action was over and everything appeared to be wrapping up for a happy ending for Lula and Louis, my injuries were starting to make themselves known. I'd been able to ignore them up until dessert when I stood up to make a trip to the ladies room. My head spun with the sudden change of altitude and then my knees gave out again and I found myself gripping the back of my chair to stay upright.

"Steph?" they all chorused, concerned tones weaving through the single syllable.

I raised my hand to wave them off, letting them know that I was fine, but I wasn't. My head, finished with its spin now, was starting to throb and it was effecting my vision, and it brought with it my good friend nausea. I ended up sitting back down, admitting defeat.

"Steph, tell me what's wrong?" I heard Bobby's voice ask from directly beside me, making me realise that at some point I must have closed my eyes against the low lighting of the restaurant. I tried to open them, to look at him and let him know I was all right, but the light stabbed my eyes and made everything worse. "Can you hear me, Steph?" Bobby tried again, grabbing one of my hands off the table cloth and gripping it firmly. "Steph, you're freaking me out here, squeeze my hand if you can hear me."

I squeezed his hand, listening as he let out a shaky, but relieved sigh.

"Good," he breathed. "Okay, is it your head? Squeeze for yes."

I squeezed again.

"Can you open your eyes?"

Taking a deep breath to fight off the roiling in my stomach, I found my voice. "I can, but the lights… I think I'm getting a migraine," I explained slowly and quietly.

"Take her home," Louis suggested kindly, not that I was planning on staying feeling like this. "She was a great friend to have come out in this condition and I appreciate everything she's done, but she needs to go home and rest so she can heal."

Bobby and Lula agreed, not that I thought either of them would have any objections. Lula was grateful for my company this evening, but having been present for the moment I injured myself, and witnessed how much it affected me, she could tell I needed to go home. And Bobby, well, he was against me coming out in the first place, but he knew better than to try prevent me from doing what I'd already set my mind to.

"Steph?" Bobby said quietly, grabbing my attention and making me wonder if I'd zoned out. "Can you stand?"

I didn't know. But I felt like trying would require opening my eyes for a start, so worked on that, slowly slitting them open. The lights stabbed my eyes, and I met Bobby's gaze briefly. The concern in that face was more than I'd ever seen. I guess I was acting pathetic, but I felt like I was dying. A single tear rolled down my face before I could stop it and I saw the decision cross Bobby's face.

"I'll carry you," he informed me. "If that's okay." I almost didn't contain my sob. Even now when I was clearly unable to move by myself, he was asking for permission. How had I landed such a thoughtful friend? "Steph," he said. "I'd like for you to give me permission, but if you don't reply in the next thirty seconds I'm going to let my medic instincts take charge and drive you straight to the hospital."

"Please," I choked out.

And with that he swept me efficiently up into his arms to carry me out of the restaurant. I had to close my eyes and hold my breath against the wave of nausea that almost overcame me. Vomiting on Bobby was the last thing I wanted to do. It was no way to repay him for the kind friendship he'd shown today.

I don't remember much after that. At some point I assume I was deposited into the SUV Bobby was driving. And I also assume that I was then carried up to my apartment when we arrived back in Trenton, because the next thing I recall was waking up to weak light striping across my face as I lay in bed. My migraine was blissfully absent, though my nose ached, and the nausea that had threatened to overcome me before leaving the restaurant was missing as well. Not that I was complaining. I felt a thousand times better than my last waking memory.

With a small, tentative stretch, I eased my way over to the edge of the bed and slowly stood up. No dizziness came rushing back, so I took that as a good sign and padded across to the bathroom. My intention was to shower, but a voice halted me halfway across the room.

"Oh, good," it said, sounding croaky with sleep. "You're up. I was starting to worry."

"Bobby?" I asked, pivoting to face the chair that has sat in the corner of my bedroom since I moved in. "What are you doing here?"

"Keeping an eye on you," he explained, rolling his head from side to side like he was working out a crick in his neck. "I've never seen you ill like that and it worried me. I thought maybe it might have been a reaction to the pain killers I gave you. They're not the ones you're used to."

"I'm sure it wasn't your fault," I assured him. Then, as he moved, I caught sight of his face in the glow from the bathroom night light and was unable to contain my gasp. "You look like hell, Bobby," I told him. "You should go home and get some rest."

He chuckled good naturedly, "You don't look so crash hot yourself," he pointed out drily. "And besides, I've dozed on an off through the day. I didn't want to go too far until you woke up just in case it turned out to be something more serious. I hope you don't mind."

Shaking my head, I told him, "I admire your commitment to the cause, but I'm perfectly fine. You can go home and- wait." I'd been heading for the bathroom once more, but stopped suddenly as Bobby's words caught up with me. "Did you say through the _day_?"

"You've been out for about twenty hours," Bobby informed me quietly.

And now I understood his concern. I'd not only slept all night, but the weak light that I thought was predawn rearing its ugly, unnatural head, was actually the day coming to a close. I'd slept right through. And knowing my luck would now be up all night as a consequence. Then, another thought occurred to me.

"You weren't meant to be working today, were you?" I asked, taking the few steps to return to the bed and sit on the edge. I may have been awake and able to move without too much pain or nausea, but I was still feeling a bit weak. "You're going to get yourself fired if you keep openly defying Ranger."

"I didn't openly defy anyone," he explained, scratching the stubble on his jaw. "I simply called him up and told him in no uncertain terms that I would not be returning to work until I was absolutely certain that what was ailing you was nothing more than the migraine you suggested it might be." I didn't say anything, sensing Bobby wasn't finished. "He agreed that I was right where I was supposed to be. Steph, I know he's done a shit of a thing to you, and I am in no way condoning the man's actions, but he still loves you. He was a complete wreck yesterday when you wouldn't let him stay and make sure you were okay. He's so used to you relying on him and melting into his chest at the first sign of chaos that your insistence on him leaving the hospital knocked him for six. He's called me every hour for an update on your condition and even tried to visit around lunch time. I'm not saying you need to forgive him, but maybe you should at least let him give you a proper … explanation… as to his…. You're not going to let him anywhere near you, are you?" He trailed off to question.

I shook my head firmly, pulling my legs up to sit cross legged on the bed. "What did he expect to happen when he cut ties?" I asked. "That I'd accept that you guys weren't allowed to help me anymore and then just blindly let him comfort me when I fucked up and injured myself? That seems a bit farfetched to me. Double standards even." I lowered my voice to imitate Ranger. " _I'm going to take away the back-up you've relied on for the last six years and not tell you about it, but, oh Babe, are you okay? I was so worried about you. You should have called me the moment you fell face first into the cement."_ I scoffed. "This experience has been a real eye opener. I'm glad it happened now before things got too serious between us."

Bobby stood from the chair and crossed the space in three sides, perching on the bed beside me. "Steph, you-"

I sighed, knowing that I was being harsh, but I couldn't seem to dredge up any sympathy for a man who put my safety at risk without notifying me. And not only that, put my friends in a tense spot on the firing line between us in the process. "I need time, Bobby," I said. "This isn't something I'm going to be able to just get over." I scooted back off the bed. "Now, I'm as fine as someone can be the day after breaking their nose, so I need you to head back to your apartment and rest. If I hear you've been working after spending the entire night and day making sure I didn't die, I will be so severely pissed off that it'll make this thing with Ranger look like a petty argument."

Bobby nodded his understanding and also stood, gathering up his boots and utility belt from beside the chair – I hadn't even noticed them in the half light – and heading for the bedroom door, presumably to let himself out. He paused in the doorway, though, one hand on the frame as he glanced over his shoulder to me. "If Ranger asks about your condition," he started, leaving his question unfinished.

"I really don't think he should be privy to that kind of information given all the information he's kept from me recently," I stated, crossing my arms over my chest, "But you can give him the bare minimum of details if you like. Just enough to keep him off your back."

Another nod and he turned to leave once more. Paused. "Lester said he might drop by after his shift with Pino's if you're feeling up to it," he said. "I can tell him to hold off if you like, let you have some time alone instead."

"Pino's actually sounds really great," I said softly.

He cast a bit of a smile over his shoulder, as he took the final step out of the room. I'd just let out a breath I hadn't realised I was holding when his face appeared in the doorway again. "One more thing," he mentioned. "I'm gonna stop by tomorrow to check on your face. _Please_ don't go off chasing skips until I've seen you."

I managed a laugh at that. "Bobby, my plan right now is to rest a couple days and hopefully let the bruising get past its worst stage before I make a reappearance on the streets," I assured him. "I'm sure I look like a panda right now, and I doubt anyone would take me seriously like this."

"Call me if you need anything," he said. "Any time. And take the pain pills the hospital gave you if you need any relief. I don't want to risk another reaction like last night, if it was my pills."

"I'll be fine," I told him firmly. "Go. I need a shower and by the looks of it you need three days' worth of sleep. We're neither of us any good to anyone like this."

With one final nod, he was gone from sight again, and I managed to call out the thanks that had been on the tip of my tongue throughout our entire conversation but never quite made it out of my mouth just as he reached the apartment door. "Thank you for being there for me!" I yelled.

"That's what friends are for," he called back. "Besides, it's my job!"

Turning, finally, toward the bathroom once more, shook my head. We both knew that was a lie. His job description no longer included taking care of Stephanie Plum. In fact, by some viewpoints it probably never should have in the first place. But it had. And now it didn't. And had Rangeman been a regular company with regular employees that would have been the end of the story. As it stands, Rangeman is more of a family than most families tend to be in this day and age, and for some reason or another, they'd decided to extend that honour to me as well. Unfortunately for all those involved, family tends to stick by family, and when Ranger cast me out and ordered the men to do the same, they'd rebuked. They were risking their jobs, and their lives for me.

As I stepped into the bathroom, turning on the light, I made the decision that I would tell Bobby, Lester and Tank to stick by Ranger's rules. No more moonlighting. No more helping Stephanie Plum. I could manage well enough on my own, I'd just be sure to only take the skips within my skill level. It might be a bit of a downgrade, and money would probably be a lot tighter – envision an already constricting corset being tightened more forcefully – but I'd get through and find a solution for that and for my training. I just needed to –

 _Holy Hell!_

My mind had been so occupied with my plans for the future and setting the shower going that I hadn't really taken notice of the mirror until I'd stripped down and was reaching for my comb to detangle the mess of curls I could feel turning into a birds nest with every passing second. Let me tell you, the woman in the reflection was not a pretty sight. I'd assumed earlier that I would look like a panda, but that was nothing compared to what I was confronted with. If I didn't know any better, I'd almost think that I'd been cast as a zombie in some kind of play and this was my stage makeup. The area around my eyes wasn't just yellow or green with smudges of purple. They were black. As night.

It looked like I'd be a hermit for the next few days at least, no way was I going to show my face in town looking like this and giving the burg even more reason to talk. They already knew about my injury, I didn't need to keep fuelling the fire by reminding them every day.

 _ **Thanks, as always, for reading. I hope you're all enjoying it.**_


	17. Chapter 17

_Another night of Theatre Restaurant done and dusted (just three more to go) and once again, I used writing a chapter of this story as my wind down afterwards - I have to do something to stop going over the songs in my head. And luckily for you, I wasn't rostered on for clean up after the show, so I got to come home and get more writing done than last week! Yay!_

 **Chapter 17**

I was true to my word to Bobby, and didn't head back out onto the streets until he'd given me clearance. In the meantime, I spent my days catching up on popular TV shows, thanks to Lula hooking me up with her Netflix account, and visiting with the guys. I saw at least one of the infamous three every day, either before or after their shift, or if they happened to have the day off they would veg out on the couch with me. I told them all more than once that they didn't need to risk their jobs by hanging out with me, but they assured me that Ranger wouldn't actually fire them, and that hanging out was not in breach of their contract anyway, since they were neither on company time, nor in uniform. It seemed they were as eager to defy Ranger's overbearing and unfair new rules as I was to ignore his phone calls.

Of which there had been many.

And emails.

I'd turned my phone off and hadn't checked my email in days, letting everyone who mattered know that they could catch me on Facebook if they needed me.

A week after my fall, Bobby, Lester and Tank came over for dinner (which I had lovingly prepared via a phone order to Shorty's that they picked up on the way). Bobby brought his med kit in order to check me over after we ate, since the swelling had mostly gone down by then, and Tank and Lester brought an X-Box with a couple of games. I'm not sure what they indended to do with that, since I was terrible at video games and they knew it, but I just pushed it aside as we sat down around the table.

"So what's going on in your lives?" I asked. "Anything of note? Any major occurrences at work or whatever?" It was small talk, I realised. The type of discussion we never tended to get on to, but over the last week, I appeared to have exhausted all meaningful conversation topics. "Any ladies of note that you've been hiding from me?" I added for good measure. If I was going to start delving into their lives, I may as well go all the way, right?

Lester let out a genuine laugh at my last question. "Plenty," he said. "A different one every week. All of them gorgeous. All of them phenomenal in the sack. But none of them worthy of being introduced to the great Stephanie Plum."

"What do you mean by that?" I questioned, feeling almost hurt. I was sure the guys had at least _seen_ a few of his conquests. But he was determined to keep me out? Why?

A twinkle in his eye told me that I was probably going to like his answer. "Steph, Beautiful, introducing a woman to you is like taking them home to meet my mom. I want you to approve of whoever I eventually end up with, because I hope that you'll get along and hang out so I don't have to leave separate lives anymore," he explained. "Plus, if I introduce them to you, and let them know that you're one of my best friends, I'm sure they'll get jealous of any and all time I spend with you."

"Right," I rolled my eyes, not believing him for a second.

"No, he's probably right," Tank said. "The type of woman Lester routinely beds are generally the extremely jealous type. And given what a bombshell you are – in the holy hell, hot sense of the word – I can see how Lester would be concerned by this."

I didn't know how to deal with that information, so instead, I turned the tables. "What about you, Tank, any ladies on the horizon?"

"Just cats," he said shortly, far less verbal about his own personal life than he was about Lester's. "Ambrose needs special attention. He has a condition with his ears."

"Okay," I said, not sure what exactly I was supposed to do with this information. I was vaguely aware of the fact that Tank had cats, but I had no idea that he chose them over humans. Rather than dwell on these new facts, though, I turned my attention to the medic, who was using his tongue in the attempt to wind a long string of cheese into his mouth. "What about you, Bobby? Is there a special lady in your life?"

Bobby glanced up from his task like he was a deer caught in the headlights of an eighteen wheeler. His eyes were wide and the chees was still hanging from his slightly agape mouth. "Um…" he said, quickly doing away with the cheese and using a napkin to wipe his mouth. "Well, there is this one girl," he said, pretending to be busy so he wouldn't have to look at me or the other two, who seemed just as surprised as I was at this news. "But I don't know if she feels the same way."

"Have you asked her?" Lester asked, giving him 'you dog' expressions while he chewed his latest bite of pizza. "You know that's the only way of finding out, right? Have you spoken to her?"

"Of course I've spoken to her!" Bobby exclaimed, looking offended. "I'm not an idiot."

"Then how come you don't know how she feels?" Lester insisted. He was like a dog with a bone when it came to these things. I was quite enjoying the interaction, to be honest. It wasn't every day that Bobby was embarrassed and flustered. I was pretty sure I could detect a hint of a blush rising on his cheeks.

"It's complicated," Bobby muttered.

"Oh, Bobby," I sighed. "You're not lusting after another man's woman, are you?" I asked.

"I don't know for certain," he said, shoving the rest of his slice in his mouth so that he could avoid discussing the topic any further. I was prepared to let it go, seeing how out of sorts he was about it, but Lester was determined to get a name out of him. He kept listing off women they knew in some format or another, like Lilly the Barmaid, or Taryn from New York. I had no idea who any of them were, but eventually I took pity on poor Bobby and interrupted.

"Hey, Bobby, I'm just about done here," I announced. "Why don't you take a look at my nose while these two set up the X-Box?"

"My actual pleasure," Bobby said gratefully, standing from the table and sliding his paper plate into the bin before picking up his med kit and heading toward the bedroom. "I'll meet you in the bathroom when you're ready," he explained.

The moment he was out of sight I reached across the table and slapped Lester upside the head like I'd seen Tank and Ranger do many a time.

"Oww!" he complained, rubbing the spot I'd made contact with even though I was fairly certain his hard head had done more damage to my hand than I'd done to him. "What was that for?"

"Teasing Bobby," I pointed out. "He was clearly uncomfortable and didn't want to talk about it and you were just pushing the issue. Just leave him be." Lester mumbled an apology while Tank chuckled. I sent the large man beside me a warning glare and stood to follow the way Bobby had exited.

When I entered the bathroom, Bobby was leaning against the counter staring at his gloved hands. He looked up as I approached, and smiled, indicating for me to hop up on the bench top. I did so and he examined my nose, chin, forehead and knees, assessing each in terms of recovery. My knees were still a little bruised, as were the circles around my eyes from impact of my face hitting the ground, but he assured me that should disappear in the next week. The graze on my chin looked gross, but only because it was in that scabby/peely stage, so that was nothing to worry too much about. He said my forehead and nose were healing nicely which meant I could go back to work whenever I felt up to it.

This was a relief, since I had a rent payment coming up and my fridge was looking a little bare. I needed to get some cash flow happening again if I wanted to continue living the independent life I currently enjoyed. No way did I want to crawl back to my parents and mooch of them.

"Thanks Bobby," I said, hopping off the counter and swinging an arm around his neck in a half hug. "You're the best medic I know."

"I'm the only medic you know," he pointed out.

"That's true," I agreed. "But doesn't make my statement any _less_ true."

"I guess you're right," I he nodded, snapping off his gloves and tossing them in the trash can beside the toilet. "You're a good patient most of the time, so that makes it a little easier," he added.

"Does that mean I get a lollipop?" I asked, hope lighting up my eyes.

A small smile crossed his face and he reached into his bag, pulling out a red heart shaped lolly on a stick. Perfect. "I keep a stash of them just for you," he explained. Hal knows and tries to nab one every time he injures himself, but he also knows that I'll never give him one and risk being short when you're in major melt down after a disaster."

"You're the best," I reiterated, unwrapping the lollipop and sticking it in my mouth.

*0*

The next day, I managed to cover up the worst of my bruises and lingering signs of injury and armed myself well with extra protective gear and even a loaded gun – though I hoped I wouldn't need to use it. I headed over to Vinnie's where Connie was manning the fort on her own, what with Lula away on her honeymoon and Vinnie apparently off sick with the flu. She appeared frazzled as I entered, on the phone to someone and typing furiously on the computer. When her eyes caught on me she thrust a pile of files in my direction and hiked a thumb at the file cabinets behind her, a pleading look on her face.

I glanced down at the papers, not entirely sure what she was asking until I read the sticky note attached to the top. _To be filed_ , it read. Well, it looked like she needed the help, and I wasn't exactly rushing to be anywhere. I shrugged and started singing the A,B,C song in my head while rifling through the drawers.

"Thank you so much!" Connie gushed, spinning around on her chair to face me when she was finally done with what sounded like a harrowing phone call. "You'd be surprised how much weight Lula actually pulls around here these days. Filing actually gets done half the time."

"Wow."

"I know," Connie agreed. "And now with her away with her new husband and Vinnie playing dead the office is a mess. I'm barely keeping up."

"When's Lula meant to be back?" I asked. She'd called the day after my migraine to check on me, but hadn't had any details on honeymoons at the time, and since I was ignoring half of my modes of communication, I was a little out of the loop.

"Monday," Connie said. "Thank god."

"And Vinnie?" I questioned.

She made a sound in the back of her throat that might have been a scoff, or a laugh, maybe a mixture of the two. "Don't know, don't care," she told me. "All he does is sit in his office and wank off to pictures of barnyard animals anyway."

I tried not to think about that too hard. Picturing my cousin in that kind of position was hazardous to my mental health, so instead, I changed the subject. "Any files for me?" I asked.

"That depends," Connie said spinning back around to consult her desk. "How adventurous are you feeling?"

"Not very," I told her. "My nose is still healing and my back up is absent, so I'd like something easy, if you've got it. I don't have time for a long chase or for the skip to push me over and trample me on his way to escape."

"Hmmm," Connie murmured. "Well, I've got these two. One petty theft. Thirty years old. Not generally known to be armed. Low threat level there." She handed me the file as I straightened from slipping the last from my pile into the cabinet. "And one drunken disorderly. Caught weaving through traffic at four in the afternoon offering pretzels to the poor folks caught at traffic lights."

"I'll take them," I assured her. "And maybe if they go alright, I'll come back for something a little more involved."

I turned to leave, snagging a donut from the half empty box on the desk, and was halfway to the door when she called after me. "Tried to make sure you lift your feet," she reminded me. "I can't bond them out _and_ chase them down when they skip bail. And Rangeman doesn't take the small change."

"I got your back," I promised. And I really hoped I did.

 _I'm sure I don't have to remind you all that I love hearing your comments and feedback._


	18. Chapter 18

_My bestie will probably shake her head at me when she finds out that I was writing instead of reading tonight. She's been waiting for me to finish Library of Souls (last in the Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children series by Ransom Riggs) for about a week and a half now - ever since she finished it. But I couldn't concentrate on that when I had THIS running through my brain._

 **Chapter 18**

Turns out, I did not have Connie's back. My bad Karma, which I thought surely would have run out by now between the face planting and having my head almost removed from my body, was still going strong.

I'd decided to go after Mr. Drunk and Disorderly (known more commonly as David Gray, father of two, who worked at the power plan) since offering motorist pretzels seemed a lot safe statement than 'not generally known to be armed.' Unfortunately for me, Mr. Gray was not at home when I stopped by. Nor was he at work. No one seemed to know where he was. I had suspicions he was at the bottom of a bottle in some dingy bar, but since I'd done very little research beyond the information in the file, and having already checked the bar he'd gotten blotto in prior to his arrest, I was out of ideas.

So I set him aside on the passenger seat and decided to give Mr. Petty Theft (Graham Visser, unemployed comic book enthusiast) a whirl. I sat in the carpark of Cluck in a Bucket with a burger and fries, checking my weapons to be sure I was packing at least a little heat. Pepper spray – brand new and full, thanks to Lester insisting I take his. Taser – flat, unfortunately, but you can't have everything. Gun – loaded! With two bullets. But two bullets is better than no bullets when you're in a bind.

Checking the address on the file, I finished my fries and started the car, pointing it toward the burg. Familiar territory. I arrived at Visser's house soon enough, with only one wrong turn. And as luck would have it, he appeared to be home. His beat up, mustard brown, crown vic was in the driveway. I almost cried with joy, but decided that it was a waste of time. Instead, I walked up the garden path and knocked on the door.

I could hear his shuffling footsteps approaching and stepped to the side of the door, my hand on the gun at my back just as I'd seen the guy do numerous times. Well, almost just like it. The guys would have their gun in hand, but I just wasn't that comfortable with it. A moment later the door swung open and an overgrown child stood behind the screen.

"Yeah?" he said. "This better be good, I'm in the middle of a Marvel Movie Marathon."

"Mr. Visser," I greeted, trying to sound pleasant, but really, all I think about was the fact that he had a cheeto stuck to his face. "I'm Stephanie Plum. I work for Vincent Plum Bail Bonds. You've missed your court date and I need you to accompany me to the police station where you will be rebonded."

He glanced over his shoulder, but not in the same way I had seen so many other FTAs do just before they made a run for it. He seemed to merely be thinking. "Uh, okay," he shrugged.

To say I was surprised would be an understatement. Never in the six years I had been doing this, had anyone so readily agreed to come with me. I almost didn't understand until he'd closed and locked the door behind him. It took me few tries to grab the cuffs from my back pocket and slap them onto his wrists, but he was patient enough to stand still while I did so. He cooperated with me to get into the back of my shitbox and ten minutes later I was pulling into the lot at the back of the Police Station.

That's where my luck changed.

I slid out of the driver's seat and rounded the car to the side he was on, pulling the door open to help him out. Just as the door unlatched, though, a stab of pain shot through my shoulder. I cried out, stumbling back, having dropped the handle gripped my upper arm as it hung uselessly from the socket. Dislocated. Meanwhile, Visser, whom I now realised had kicked the door out just as I was opening it, had stumbled from the back seat and was beating a hasty, yet awkward, retreat with his arms still bound behind his back.

It was too much to ask that I be able to walk away from the situation unnoticed. Of course. Just as Visser was disappearing around the corner, who should step out of the dock door but one Joseph Morelli. I would have cursed his timing, if it weren't for the fact that I was already swearing up a storm with the pain in my shoulder and arm. Though we'd been avoiding each other for months following a nasty – and very public – confrontation in Pino's, right at that moment he was like angel, coming to my rescue just when I needed it.

"Steph," he nodded, and looked like he was going to walk straight on by, as was our custom these days, until I let out another hiss of pain, leaning my back against the police vehicle behind me. "Are you okay?"

"Just great," I assured him sarcastically. "Could you, maybe, give me a lift to St. Francis?"

"What happened?" he asked, looking around the parking lot and into my car, clearly looking for the skip that would have given me a reason for being there.

"Long story," I said, "But I'm pretty sure my shoulder is dislocated."

Morelli glanced down at his watch, then his phone, before crossing the distance between us and wrapping a gentle arm around my waist to guide me toward his truck. "You're having a shit week," he told me on the way. "First the attack of the sidewalk and now this? I don't know Manoso is even letting you leave his high security fortress. Your clearly not on your best game right now. If it were me I'd-"

"Joe, I don't want to talk about Ranger and I, or what you would do if we were together," I told him. "All I need is a lift, and then I'll be out of your hair. And vice versa. Agreed?"

"Sure," he said. He wasn't surprised by me avoiding the subject of Ranger with him. It was old hat. Morelli had too many opinions on things that were none of his concern. Always had. So when I told him I didn't want to talk about it, he realised this was probably one of those times that he'd overstepped the boundaries and didn't ask any more questions. That was new, I have to admit. There was a time when he would have pressed the issue, urged me to submit my resume – such as it was – to the button factory. Or, in a last ditch, desperate measure, tried to convince me to marry him and have his babies.

Not.

Gonna.

Happen.

Getting my situated in the passenger seat of his Honda Ridgeline was an ordeal and a half. While I'd managed to not shed a tear through the excruciating initial pain of the dislocation, by the time I was the truck, I was a mess. Sweating, crying, gasping for air. Joe seemed to recognise that I was in no shape to hold a conversation, so we rode in silence while he attempted to avoid unnecessary bumps and swerves in the road.

He pulled up to the emergency room entrance and cut the engine while he helped me back out of the vehicle, lifting me by the waist from the seat and depositing me on the ground. His eyes were worried as he once more used gentle hands to guide me inside and into a seat in the waiting area while he retrieved the necessary paperwork to fill in. He offered to sit with me and be my scribe, but I assured him that I had it under control. Even though I most certainly didn't. It was my left shoulder that was damaged, so I theoretically still had use of my right. I sent him away with a promise that I would call him later and explain exactly what had happened.

As soon as he was out the door I picked up my phone to text Bobby. He was working, I knew, so I had no expectation that he would come sit with me and make sure no one did any gross and unnecessary experiments on me, but I thought I should let him know.

 _At emergency room. Shoulder dislocated. Long story. Call you later._

I hit send and dropped the phone into my bag, though I don't know why I bothered, because it was ringing the moment it left my fingers.

"I said I'd call you later," I said, by way of greeting as I hit receive.

"I know," Bobby sighed. "And that's a problem, because I still have three hours of work left and if I don't have details they're going to be useless. Are you okay?"

I shifted in my chair, attempting to find a more comfortable position on the hard plastic, but immediately regretted the action as a fresh slice of pain cut through me. My soft cry of pain, though I tried so hard to stifle it, was not missed by the medic.

"Steph," he groaned wearily, "When I said you were cleared to go back to normal activities whenever you were comfortable, I didn't mean this. What happened?"

Seeing no other way out of it, I explained how Visser had lulled me into a false sense of security with his ready agreement to come willingly and had subsequently caught me off guard while opening the door and shoved all his weight behind it, dislocating the shoulder. Not one of my finer moments, but still so far from my worst. All the while, in the back of my mind, I could help thinking that maybe that Brandon Haze asshole was right. I was well beyond the point of needing training. I was a danger to myself. I was a danger to those around me. If I didn't get training I'd likely end up killing myself, or worse, accidentally getting someone I loved killed.

By the time I hung up from Bobby, promising to text him when I was done and call Tank – who had the afternoon off for a vet appointment – for a lift, I'd made a decision. I was going to convince Brandon to train me. Ranger was no longer a factor. He was the past. The likelihood that we could reconcile our issues at this stage were slim at best.

I needed training if I wanted to continue in this field. And I really did. I like solving the mysteries. I like the sense of achievement when I managed to bring someone in without help. What I needed was the ability to make every capture without help. While I was sure the guys were more than willing to lend a hand in that department, the fact remained that they were too close to the situation. I liked them too much. They were my friends. I didn't want to end up hating them because they were pushing me relentlessly to do better.

Brandon, on the other hand. I was more than happy to send a bunch of hate his way. In fact, maybe that could be another motivating factor. Proving to the man that I was more than a spoiled brat. I was a fighter. I could do this.

I was in the waiting room a long time, giving me ample opportunity to finish filling out the forms, which I could have answered by rote without looking at the questions at this point, and start making plans. I emailed Aunt Beth asking if she knew if Brandon was back in England from his business trip yet and if she minded if I came to visit. It seemed like a good starting point. If Brandon was still in the states I could track him down and convince him to train me. If he wasn't, I could visit Aunt Beth and track Brandon down over there to convince him.

Either way, I was determined.

No more, would I sit under a blanket of ice packs. No more would I allow skips to throw me across lawns. No more would I be the laughing stock of the burg. People would be calling up my mother in awe of what I had become, not to goad her about my latest mishaps.

Things were getting serious.

To affirm all these thoughts, I gave a vigorous nod, which apparently wasn't the best decision I'd made, since it sent another jolt of pain through me, and I had to amend the statement.

Things would be getting serious just as soon as I could move without unbearable agony.

 _ **I'm off to go work through the last sixty pages of my book. Feel free to review and distract me (Winky face).**_


	19. Chapter 19

_I've had a shit couple days at work. The coordinator was away, which left me in charge and with the change in weather and the end of term the kids apparently decided to go manic. In one afternoon we had to deal with more incidents than we usually have in a month! But something good came from it, I decided to write to calm down._

 **Chapter 19**

My shoulder was, indeed dislocated, but that was easily – and painfully – fixed. I walked away with my arm in a sling and a list of activity restrictions and mobility exercises. I was less than enthused by my new limitations. And as I walked out the automatic doors into the bright light of the afternoon sun, a dull ache radiating through my shoulder, I realised that my plans for betterment with the retired British Staff Sergeant would have to be postponed. There was no way anyone was going to let me train when I couldn't even lift my arm further than a few inches.

So I waited. And I did my exercises. And I made sure to check in with Bobby at least once a week to be sure I wasn't doing anything wrong. I spent the weeks after I was able to move more picking up just the regulars – the ones I'd built up a rapport with so that I just had to call and say I was coming to take them to get rebonded - and spending at least fifty percent of my meals with my parents. And a further twenty percent with BLT. I'd seen several others of the Merry Men, but they never stopped to chat for more than a minute or two, conscious that Ranger's eyes were everywhere.

Speaking of the ultimate man in black, I hadn't seen hide nor hair of him since my latest injury. Tank told me he was cross country scouting locations for the expansion, which meant that Tank's free time was limited as he took the reins of the Trenton branch of the company. Twice he'd asked me to accompany Bobby and Lester to feed his cats for him when he was caught at work for all-nighters. He claimed he didn't trust the men not to snoop, but surely he knew that sending me along wouldn't stop that from happening. In fact, it had simply increased the chances of sticky-beaking. We'd fed the cats and I'd spent ten minutes flicking through his extensive record collection or trying to unlock his office door.

When Bobby eventually gave me the all clear to return to my regular activities ("But be careful this time!") it was time to get the training I needed. Aunt Beth had been in contact to say that Brandon Haze was, indeed, back in England and that she would talk to him about training me. She'd convinced him to give me another chance, but I would _have_ to travel to England to take him up on his offer, since he refused to either leave his daughter again for an indeterminate time, or pull her out of school to travel with him. I understood completely and received Brandon's contact details in order to set up when I would be arriving et cetera.

The only problem was, I hadn't mentioned my plans to the guys. They knew I was intending to get serious about getting training, but I had failed to let them in on the fact that I was going to England to do so. They were still under the impression that they could convince me to let them train me. Somehow, I had to disillusion them to that fact, let them know I was going away and still be friends at the end of it.

Probably, I should have talked to them about it while I was still in the planning stages of the endeavour, rather than waiting until I'd booked my flight…

I broached the subject after dinner one Wednesday evening when we were all sprawled across my lumpy couch and armchair. "Is anyone available to drive me to the airport on Saturday?" I asked, seemingly out of the blue into the middle of their discussion over which actress in the movie we were watching was hotter. I'd actually been thinking about it all evening and trying to work up the courage to bring up the subject. This was the best I'd come up with, unfortunately.

"Who are you picking up?" Lester asked curiously, craning his head to look at me from his position leaning against the couch in front of me.

"No one," I said retracting my hand from his hair where I'd been absently plaiting and unplaiting it for the last ten minutes. "I'm, um, I'm catching a flight."

"Where to?" Bobby asked, sitting up straighter on my left side. "You're not going to go confront Ranger, are you?"

"No, no, God no," I said, shaking my head adamantly. God only knows where he'd got that idea from. I'd been telling them twelve times a day that I didn't care where Ranger was at this point in time because I still wasn't ready to talk to him. Though part of me wanted to tell him that I was getting training just to prove his suits wrong, the other half of me wanted to keep it a secret because if he wanted to be caught up on my life he should have kept me in the loop on it as well. "I'm going to visit my Aunt Beth in England andI'mgettingtrainingwitharetiredBritishstaffsergeant." I was in such a rush to get the words out that I'm afraid it ended up as a jumble of sounds more than actual words.

"What?" Lester asked sounding confused.

" _What_?" Bobby's tone was more concerned.

"What's the name of this staff sergeant?" Tank asked. Apparently he spoke jumbled words quite fluently.

"Brandon Haze," I told him, deciding to ignore the other's questions.

Bobby was turned around so far on his cushion that he was almost falling off the couch. His face was twisted in a mix of confusion and concern. "Brandon Haze? Who's that? What are you doing in England?" he demanded.

"Steph's getting a retired British Staff Sergeant to train her while she's in England," Tank translated before I'd found my voice again, even though he appeared to be completely focused on the phone he'd whipped out of his pocket the moment I'd mumbled through my announcement. "His name is Brandon Haze. I'm running a basic search on him right now."

"Beautiful, I thought you were going to train with us," Lester pouted, spinning around to face me. The movie was now completely forgotten, apparently.

"You guys have been too good to me for too long," I told them, staring down at my fingers twining and untwining themselves in my lap. "You've put up with a lot of crap, and I thank you for it all, but I don't want to put this added stress on you as well." I didn't mention their soft spot for me and the fact that any endeavour we made in that area was likely to fail because of it. Bobby and Lester both opened their mouths to object (Tank was absorbed in his phone) but I interrupted before they could get a single syllable out. "I _know_ you'd 'be happy to do it'," I told them. "You've informed me countless time in the few weeks. But I need to do this without you. Just this one thing."

"Are you sure?" Bobby asked. "This guy isn't gonna know your medical history or anything. He could-."

"Then I'll give you his contact details and you can give him a full report of everything he needs to know," I countered. "I won't be swayed," I said firmly. "I'm doing this whether you like it or not. It's my life and I'm tired of not being in control of it."

"Right," Lester nodded. "Sorry. You're absolutely right."

"We just worry about you," Bobby said, and I could have sworn there was a blush creeping onto his cheeks. It's hard to tell with his dark complexion. "Especially when we cant be there to help you, support you, or come to your aid if you need it," he added.

"I know," I said. The events of the last few weeks had definitely cemented this fact in my mind. "I'll keep you all up to date on what I'm up to," I promised. "Email you every day if it makes you happy, but I'm going."

At that point, Tank looked up from his phone and announced that 'the guy' checked out. And, remarkably, that was the end of the discussion for the evening. Lester, who was first to return his attention to the television announced that actress A was definitely hotter than actress B and he and Tank fell back into a debate. I tried to ignore them as I settled back onto the couch, preferring not to know what terms that were using for the female anatomy these days.

"Why didn't you tell us sooner?" Bobby asked in a whisper, leaning back beside me.

A sigh fell from my lips as I shrugged. "I didn't know how," I explained. "And I didn't want to seem ungrateful for everything you guys have done for me recently. I guess I was just a coward."

"You're anything but a coward," Bobby assured me

*o*

After a particularly fruitless debate and six rounds of rock paper scissors, it was decided that Bobby would be the one to drive me to the airport. Much to the disgruntlement of the other two. Lester, I think, just wanted to get out of a mandatory family function, while Tank's reasons remain as mysterious as the rest of his life. I was flattered that they all wanted to spend time with me, but I was also aware that I could probably have saved the drama and just caught a cab.

 _Next time, Stephanie,_ I thought to myself as I pulled into Tank's driveway. He'd offered to keep my car at his place so it wouldn't get trashed or stolen while I was away. I had a feeling it was planning on working on it as well. It had been making some god-awful noises lately. He emerged from within as I got out of my car, Lester and Bobby on his heels. Apparently, I wasn't getting out of a group send off. While Lester started transferring my suitcase from my trunk to Bobby's I walked straight over to Tank to give him my keys.

"I know what you're planning," I told him. "And you don't have to."

"Don't have to what?" he asked innocently, pocketing the keys. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Promise me that if you do anything to it or replace anything on it you'll keep the receipts so I can pay you back," I requested bluntly.

I thought he would try to deny it, or perhaps change the subject, but instead I was treated to a rare moment Tank humour. He sent me a mock salute with a cocky grin. "Yes Ma'am," he agreed. Shaking my head, I punched him lightly in the gut and was rewarded with his pretend pain as he doubled over. Before I'd fully retracted my hand, though, he'd wrapped his arms around my waist and lifted me off my feet in a bear hug. "I'm gonna miss having you around," he told me earnestly. "You better hurry the fuck through whatever training this guy has in store for you, because our group dinners have been the only things keeping me sane lately."

"You'll be fine," I assured him. "Bobby and Lester are still here. You can eat with them a couple times a week."

He set me back down and gave me a look like I was stupid. "They're intolerable when you're not there," he informed me. He glanced over my shoulder two where I assumed Lester and Bobby were and amended his statement. "Well, Bobby is tolerable. Lester not so much."

I shook my head. "Lester isn't tolerable even when I AM there," I reminded him.

A very unmanly gasp came from directly behind me as Lester wrapped his arms around my chest. "That hurts, Beautiful," he moaned. "I thought we were tight."

"Your grip is tight," I pointed out, trying to wriggle out of his grasp.

"It's because I don't wanna let you go," he said, resting his chin on the top of my head. "You're like the sister I always wanted but never got."

Bobby, standing nearby commented, "Lester, you have _actual_ sisters."

"I know," Lester agreed. "But I never wanted them. They're all waaaay too proper."

"Anyway," Bobby said. "Steph and I need to get on the road if she wants to make it on time."

Somehow, Bobby managed to get us both settled in the car while also refusing Lester – who had decided to try and climb into the backseat – entrance and we were finally on the road. Silence filled the car for a while, but when it started to feel awkward, I decided to start a conversation I'd actually been wondering about for a while now. Bobby had mentioned a girl he was interested in the night I'd asked them all if they had any love interests, but hadn't given any further details. I had a feeling he didn't want to talk about it in front Lester in particular, but I hadn't tested the theory. Right now was my last chance for a while, so I decided to go for it.

"So did anything eventuate with that girl you like?" I asked him.

Bizarrely – and terrifyingly – Bobby swerved into the other lane, narrowly missing a mini cooper. He righted our trajectory within the same second, but it didn't change the fact that I was gripping the sissy bar like my life depended on it.

"Sorry," Bobby said, glancing over to make sure I wasn't hurt. "Are you okay?"

"Fine," I assured him. "I guess you don't wanna talk about it?"

"What? No, I just, you caught me off guard," he said. A short silence followed before he started talking again. "I'm pretty sure she's single at the moment," he told me, reminding me that he hadn't been sure when last I asked.

"Have you asked her out then?" I asked, hopefully. I wanted nothing more than for the guys to be happy.

The laugh that left Bobby's lips at my question was dark and vaguely self-deprecating. "No," he said.

"Why not?!"

"It never seems to be the right time," he said with a shrug as he turned into the queue for the drop of zone. He originally wanted to come in with me but I assured him that was unnecessary. I didn't need prolonged goodbyes. The scene at Tank's had been more than enough.

"You need to _make_ it the right time, then," I told him, triple checking I had my ticket now before it was too late. "If you really like her just tell her. You've gotta stop worrying about finding the right time. If Ranger had made the time to tell me about the lawyers and investors not wanting me anywhere near the business rather than 'waiting for the right time' maybe we'd still be together."

"You and Ranger are definitely off then?" Bobby asked curiously. I didn't blame him. I'd avoided the topic for weeks.

"Absolutely," I confirmed.

At that moment the car in front of us pulled out of line and we moved up to the doors. I hopped out and Bobby met me at the back of the car where he was hauling my case out of the trunk. He set it on the curb and closed the hatch before turning to face me.

"Keep doing the exercises I gave you," he instructed. "You're not a hundred percent yet. I loaded your medical history onto your phone so you have easy access to it while you're away. But I'd prefer if you didn't need it."

"Of course," I agreed. "I'll be careful. I'll keep up the exercises and at the first sign of a problem I will contact you or go to the hospital. Or both."

Bobby nodded. "Good," he said.

He seemed to be hesitating, so I took the initiative and hugged him. "I'll miss you," I told him. "Make sure Lester doesn't get himself killed by annoying Tank too much, will you?"

Bobby smirked. "I make no promises on that front." A car honked, and we snapped his hands away. "Call me when you land," he requested. I nodded, grabbed the handle of my suitcase and had turned to leave when he called my name. "Steph!"

I turned back, thinking I'd accidentally left something behind, but as I came to face him once more, his hand caught my face and suddenly his lips were on mine. I didn't know what to do for a whole thirty seconds. Was he kissing me? Did I somehow require CPR? What on earth was happening? But then my brain must have shut off, because I was kissing him back. Long moments passed and our lips remained locked until finally, someone cleared their throat nearby and mentioned that we were blocking the queue. Bobby retracted his lips and hands and stepped back, quickly mumbling something about having a good trip before hurrying back into the car and driving away, leaving me puffy lipped and confused.

 _ **Yep, so... that happened... Please don't hate me for ending the chapter there!**_


	20. Chapter 20

_First day of September Vacation Care at work, and apparently I over estimated how much time it would take me to get ready this morning. I was left with an extra hour in which to play. Luckily, I had a brain wave last night (just prior to bed time) on how to continue the story, so I had something to occupy my time. I wrote half of it before work. Half of it after work. Played with my nieces. Went to Choir. Then came home to type it all up for you all._

 **Chapter 20**

Somehow I must have made it through all the necessary check points while my mind was occupied with trying to work out what the hell just happened with bobby, because before I knew it I was on the plane. Why on earth would he just kiss me like that? It's not like we'd ever been on those kinds of terms in our relationship. Hugging, yes. Of course. All the time. Especially when I was coming down from an adrenaline rush caused by an explosion. But _kissing_? And after we'd just been talking about him telling that girl he likes how he feels!? How does he expect a woman to accept his love he's off kissing random girls like… that…

"Oh shit," I muttered.

The old man in the seat beside me looked over, a soft sort of twinkle in his brown eyes. He glanced at my hands which were clenched around the arm rests then out the window. "Not a great flier?" he asked.

I followed his gaze to the scenes passing by – apparently we were beginning take off – but my brain was now focused entirely on what Bobby's kiss would mean and all I managed to get out was another panicked, "Oh shit."

"It'll be oka, dear," he said, patting my arm. "Take off is always the worst part. My wife broke my hand once during take off."

I couldn't find the words to express how much take off was definitely not the worst part of my life right now. Bobby had kissed me. Like, _really_ kissed me. And now I had an eight hour flight during which to dwell on it with no way of even attempting to get answers until I was over three thousand miles away from him. He had better have a mighty good explanation for what he did.

"Look, see," the old man was saying beside me. "We're up in the air now. Everything will be fine."

Somehow, I managed to push through all the rattled thoughts in my head and smile at him. "Thanks," I mumbled. "But it's not the take of that has me freaking out."

His eyes twinkled a little more. "First time away from your love?" He asked innocently. "I remember the first time I had to leave Mildred behind. Of course back then we didn't have emails or cell phones to keep in touch."

"Not exactly," I replied, cutting him of rather rudely probably, and I had every intention of leaving it at that, until the flight attendant came around with the drinks cart and I found myself with an increased blood alcohol level and a decreased control over my tongue. I ended up telling the poor man my entire life's story. "And then he kissed me!" I exclaimed. "Right on the lips. And it was a really great kiss. And then … and then he just drove away and I'm not going to see him for months and I have no idea what the kiss means or what he was thinking and.. and…"

"That does sound like a pickle," the man agreed, nodding good naturedly. "You have a lot to think about on your trip."

"But why would he just kiss me like that and then walk away?" I moaned. "It's not fair! It's confusing! It's agonising!"

The man sighed. "Perhaps, what you need to do is write all these questions down and when you get to where you're going you can either call him and ask or email all the questions to him."

That sounded sensible, I decided, so I grabbed the airsick bag from the pocket in front of me, accepted his proffered pencil and began to write. It was probably entirely illegible, but I had to get the thoughts down on paper before I lost them. It was all working out quite well until we hit some turbulence about five hours in and my alcohol filled stomach revolted. The sick bag I had spent hours scribbling on was pressed into its true service as I unloaded into it.

The old man encouraged me to sleep after that, and I guess I must have obeyed, because the next thing I knew he was gently shaking my shoulder.

"We've landed, dear," he informed me as I snorted awake, my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth and my hair doing god only knows what. He was kind enough to assist me with my carry on and when we parted ways in the arrivals lounge, gave me a pat on the arm and sain, "I hope it all works out for you."

I wished him luck on his journey as well, though I'd been so self-absorbed that I hadn't even asked what his plans were, and turned to find Aunt Beth standing nearby.

"Stephanie!" she greeted, pulling me into a warm hug. "You've grown into a… well… look how you've grown! It's so good to see you! How was your flight?"

I managed a smile for her, because I didn't want to start my visit with her by dumping all my problems on her. "I've had better," I shrugged. "Hit some turbulence, tossed some cookies." I paused as I was reminded of all the written questions I'd lost, but decided to push it to the back of my mind for now. I wasn't going to live in denial land, because I realised how much such decisions had hurt me in the past, but I didn't need to think about it right now. "How are you?" I asked. "I didn't pull you away from your students, did I?"

"It's Saturday night, dear," she assured me. "I don't teach past noon on Saturdays. Now let's get your luggage and head for home. You look like you could use a shower and good night's sleep.

*o*

After a shower I felt much better, but wasn't quite ready for sleep, so I sat with Aunt Beth for a while as she embroidered and told me a story about when she and mom were little and Aunt Beth had accidentally set Mom's hair on fire. When she started to yawn and mentioned heading to bed, I realised that I hadn't sent the guys an email to let them know I'd arrived. I asked to borrow her computer, since mine was still packed and told her she didn't need to stay up on my account.

I typed in a quick message to the three of them:

 _Hi Guys!_

 _Made it to London without incident (yay me!) Only got a little bit air sick. About to head to bed now._

 _Hope you are all well,_

 _Steph_

And then I opened a new email and attempted to put some of my thoughts and questions onto the screen for Bobby, but nothing seemed to be coming out right.

 _Dear Bobby,_

Nope, that sounded too formal…

 _Hey Bobby,_

Too casual.

 _Bobby,_

It seemed a little abrupt, but… I ended up scrapping that one as well and returning to my original instinct.

 _Dear Bobby,_

 _Following your… our… unexpected meeting of lips, I have spent a few hours trying to understand exactly what it meant (It's not like I had anything else to do on for eight hours). I had thought, when we were talking, that the girl you liked was someone else, someone other than me, and you didn't want to tell me because you hadn't made any moves yet and didn't want to jinx things. But then you… did that and I… don't know what to think. Am I supposed to take it as a signal? Was it just a spur of the moment experiment? Did Lester dare you? Or am I the girl?_

 _I'm really confused. Please find it in your heart to explain and put me out of my misery, because I don't think I can go another few months without knowing._

 _Steph._

I reread the email six times before finally working up the courage to hit send. At which point I stared at my inbox for five minutes wondering if I'd done the right thing. Should I have ignored it? Pretended it didn't happen? No. I needed to know the truth or it would just play on my mind more and more while I'm here and make things super awkward between bobby and me when I returned. I mean, things could still be awkward when I returned depending on how this email was received, but at least it won't be unnecessarily awkward, right?

The email alert sound dinged, making me jump about three feet in the air, but it was just Lester.

 _Hi Beautiful,_

 _Glad you made it in one piece. Let's hope you stay that way. Contact us if you need anything and keep us posted on your progress,_

 _Lester._

Another came in directly behind it from Tank.

 _Steph._

 _Good to hear. Let me know if I have to come and set Brandon straight._

 _Tank._

I waited a few more minutes after Tank's email came through just in case Bobby sent through a response as well, but nothing came. Nothing, that is, if you don't count the daily email from Ranger. My automatic move was to delete it straight way like I had for the last couple of months, but today something made me stop. The cursor hovered over the email for a second and, in a flash of self loathing or something, I must have decided to open it, because suddenly I was reading Ranger's words.

 _Babe,_

 _I know in your eyes I no longer have the right to call you that, that I forfeit the right when I failed to discuss changes to your security with you, and I understand how you must feel: hurt, betrayed, unloved. But I will always love you. You will always be my Babe. Without you in my heart I'm just a husk of a man._

 _I've been trying to give you the time you need to come to terms with what I've done, and I don't blame you for needed it. I was a shitty human being, let alone boyfriend, but I wish you would let me tell you the whole story. It may not make you see me in a better light, but at the very least you would have all the information with which to hate me fully._

 _Please let me know that you've received this email and we can set up a time to meet and discuss._

 _Love_

 _Ranger._

The only thing keeping me from throwing the computer monitor across the room was the knowledge that a) it was not mine, and b) Aunt Beth was softly snoring upstairs. The last thing I wanted to do was trash her stuff and wake her up after she'd been kind enough to open her home to me. But dammit, Ranger wasn't even trying to explain himself in these emails. No explanations. No apologies. Sure, he acknowledged how shitty he was, but that's not the same thing. And now I was reminded anew of _all_ of my problems. Not just the ones relating to Bobby.

I shut down the computer (gently) and climbed silently upstairs to the spare room Aunt Beth had set up for me where I then proceeded to lay there awake, crying and angry and confused.

I'd sworn when I finally broke up with Morelli for good that I would never again be caught between two men. And now here I was. Of course, at the time I'd though that Ranger could do no wrong and would never hurt me like he had. I knew a part of me still loved him, but I wasn't sure the rest of me would be able to let go of what he'd done all to appear some suits. And then there was whatever was going on with Bobby. Did he have feelings for me? If he did, how did I feel about him? I'd never contemplated any of the guys as potential partners before. I was always too preoccupied with the two men I had already filling my dance card. But now, with Morelli well and truly out of the picture and Ranger in the time out corner… _could_ something happen with Bobby? Or anyone? Should I explore my options?

I was still awake and agonising over my predicament when the sun rose the next morning and I heard Aunt Beth start puttering around downstairs. Seeing no point in pretending to sleep any longer, I got up and wandered down to the music room where I found her with a cup of tea, looking over a piece of music.

"I didn't wake you, did I?" she asked, looking up as I entered with an apologetic expression.

I shook my head, trying in vain to shift a mass of curls out of my face. "I wasn't really asleep," I informed her. "Too much on my mind."

"Nervous about setting up training with Brandon?" she guessed, patting the seat next to her in invitation and pouring me a cup of tea without even asking if I wanted one. I supposed it was just expected. I was, after all, now in London.

I sunk down onto the cushions and accepted the cup. "Surprisingly, Brandon is the least of my worries at the moment."

"Ah," she murmured knowingly. "This is the betrayal of a lover still?"

I nodded. "And it gets worse."

"Tell me all about it, dear."

So I did. Every single detail of my life for the past few weeks, with far more information about the situation than I'd previously deigned to share with her, finishing with simply, "And now I don't know which way is up anymore."

Aunt Beth was quiet a while, sipping her tea and tapping her pencil on the top of her score. Then she drew a deep breath and gave her opinion: "Perhaps this time away will give you the chance you need to sort out what it is your head and your heart aren't agreeing on."

 _What the hell was that supposed to mean?_

 _ **Thank you for all the magical reviews.**_


	21. Chapter 21

_Just a short one today. And a note to let you all know that I've had this first conversation with Brandon written since the first time we all met him._

 **Chapter 21**

According to both my email interactions with Brandon, and Aunt Beth's accounts over breakfast, he was aware that I would be arriving on his doorstep sometime today, but he was still making no guarantees about his part in my situation. If he didn't train me, I guess I'd stay a couple of weeks for a holiday and then go back and ask the guys to assist me. But I really would rather he be kind enough to train me. Last time he'd said no, claiming me to be a brat. He said my motivation was too self-centred and childish and left me in the dust. Literally.

This time, I knew what I had to do. I'd seen the light.

I rang the doorbell.

I couldn't hear anything going on behind the closed, boring brown door, but suddenly it was open and there was Brandon in a pair of blue jeans, a coca cola t-shirt and sneakers. His hair was perfectly in place, the side parting almost severe in its precision. He eyed me top to bottom. I'd decided on a quick messy bun, minimal make up (just enough to minimise the remainders of my bruising and scaring), v-neck t-shirt, yoga pants and sneakers, hoping that by turning up in appropriate attire to begin straight away he would see that I was serious.).

"Can I help you?" he asked coolly as his gaze came up to meet mine.

"I hope so," I replied honestly.

"What makes you think this time will be any different than when we first met?" he questioned, leaning a shoulder against the door frame as he crossed his arms.

This was it, time to explain myself. I took a deep breath and started. "Because without training I'm a danger not only to myself but to all those around," I said honestly. "I've caused injuries to more people than I can count. I'd be stupid to continue this endeavour without proper skills under my belt. I should have gotten training years ago, but I grew complacent with the support I'd been given and I took advantage of it. I'm a menace. I'm self-absorbed and you had every right to reject me. Hell, you have every right to send me away right now. But please. I like helping these people. I liked the thrill of the capture. I love figuring out the mysteries and drawing connections. I would die if I had to go work at the button factory. I will do anything to better myself and stop making all these stupid, potentially fatal mistakes. Please train me."

Silence.

A whole minute of silence.

And then.

He shrugged.

"Can't."

I couldn't believe it. He was still denying me? Probably he'd made up his mind before I even turned up. Bastard. I'd come all this way and he wasn't even going to give me a chance. "What?" I asked, feeling a little shell shocked.

"I can't train you," he said firmly. "Until you have medical clearance."

Okay, well that made sense, I guess. "I'll have Bobby, my medic friend send through my signed permission form, shall I?" I asked, unable to keep the sarcasm from my statement and trying to ignore the tightening in my stomach when I thought of Bobby. He'd been looking after me for years, had he been doing it out of more than a sense of duty?

"You can do whatever you like, but I'm going to need you to see my own medic friend. I don't necessarily trust yours, since he's one of the men that have been enabling yourself destructive ways for six years," he explained matter-of-factly. "I've taken the liberty of setting up an appointment for this afternoon for you."

"You're still an ass," I told him, not even bothering to shutter my glare.

"No," he countered easily. "I'm appropriately cautious. I don't want to start a regime with you if it's going to aggravate previous injuries. Let this be your first lesson."

I'm pretty sure I had to do a double take at that statement. "Let _what_ be my first lesson?"

Brandon shrugged again. "Caution," he suggested. "Rejection. Knowing your limitations. Take your pick."

*0*

So I went to see Brandon's medic friend, who happened to be a woman. Her name was Bonnie. Because that wasn't confusing for me at all. Bobby and Bonnie, both medics. At least they had the fundamental difference of being opposite genders. She had blonde hair that seemed just as curly and unruly as mine, and a friendly demeanour, so that was a plus.

We spent half an hour or so going through the general check up stuff – eyes, ears, mouth, nose, throat, - then she got me to demonstrate my flexibility, at which point I informed her of my most recent injury, the shoulder dislocation, explaining that I'd just been given the all clear for normal activities a few days ago. She hmmed at that and I offered to give her the complete medical history that Bobby had downloaded to my phone, but she declined. Apparently, she'd done her research prior to my arrival and already had a copy of it. She did, however, ask me to leave the room while she made a phone call.

Ten minutes later I had a "not from the doctor" say I was fit for active duty or whatever. That's what she said it was, I couldn't be sure, since it was in a sealed envelope and not addressed to me. I took it straight to Brandon. The sooner he was aware of my fitness the sooner I could get started on his training regime.

He met me at the door before I'd even knocked this time, holding his hand out for the envelope and reading it carefully before looking up and studying me for a long moment. "If we do this," he said slowly. "You will follow every direction I give you without question." I nodded. "I'm in charge. I have the knowledge you need. If you want to get it, you will obey."

"Okay," I said, nodding again.

"I going to need you to swear to follow every direction I give you," he prompted, crossing his arms over his chest.

Stifling a sigh, I said, in my best imitation of a school aged child reciting mandatory words in class. "I promise I will follow every direction you give me," adding for good measure. "Without complaint."

He raised an eyebrow (could _everyone_ in the world do that besides me?). "Keep that attitude up and I'll have you write it out a thousand times."

"Sorry," I said. Probably, I needed to watch my tongue a little more. One wrong word and he could refuse to help me all over again.

"Brilliant," he announced with a grin I didn't like. "Tomorrow you're taking Imogen to the park."

"What?" I shrieked. "I'm not here to baby sit!"

Brandon sighed. "What did you _just_ promise?"

Sending him a glare, I pointed out, "I don't see how taking your daughter to the park is part of my training…"

"Which is why I made you swear _before_ telling you the plan," he explained. "Tomorrow, at the park, you will do everything my daughter does. If she climbs a tree, you climb a tree. If she does the monkey bars, you do the monkey bars. If she plays soccer with a bunch of other kids, you play soccer with a bunch of other kids. Got it?"

I didn't see how that could be seen as training for bounty huntering, but I just nodded. I was already on rocky ground with him and couldn't afford another misstep.

"Good. I'll see you tomorrow at ten."

 _Thanks for reading. I'd love to hear your thoughts._


	22. Chapter 22

_This chapter is dedicated to everyone who has pestered me in the last couple of months for an update. You remind me of the fact that I have unfinished stories (soooo many unfinished stories) and that there are people out there that want to know how they end. Thank you all for your constant support._

 **Chapter 22**

Aunt Beth was in lessons when I arrived back from my second meeting with Brandon. The door to the music room was closed but it did nothing to prevent the tinkling of the piano from filling the entire first floor of her house. It was oddly soothing, even with the constant stopping and starting and occasional frustrated grunt. I decided to set myself up in the kitchen with my laptop and the wifi password Aunt Beth had thoughtfully stuck to my bedroom door with a sticky note while I was gone.

The moment I logged in the email alert dinged. And dinged. And dinged some more. I sighed, turning the sound off so as not to disturb Aunt Beth's student, and clicked the notification in the bottom right corner of the screen.

 _Seven unread emails_.

Six, I quickly noted were junk that came as collateral when I signed up to certain loyalty schemes. The seventh was from Ranger. It was a little early in the day for his usual grovelling apology email, which meant that curiosity drove the mouse to click on it before even marking the rest as read.

 _"_ _Babe,"_ it started, and I wanted to throttle him for thinking he had any right to call me that. You'd think he'd get the picture after months of radio silence and the terms on which we'd ended our last face to face meeting.

 _Babe,_

 _My sources say you're in England. I hope you're taking care of yourself._

 _Love,_

 _Ranger._

What sources? Did the guys tell him? Is he still tracking me? I thought I'd gotten rid of all the transmitters weeks ago. I'd had Lester help me search my entire apartment for them. And I'd bought a new bag and phone since then. Did we miss one? Or was he simply tracking my credit card and passport. Like he had the right.

The compulsion to throw the computer was back with a vengeance. Coursing through my muscles so strongly that at one stage I actually picked it up and held it over my head before getting control of myself. When I finally laid it back on the kitchen table, I stood, crossing the small room to putting as much distance between me and it as I possibly could while keeping it in sight.

I set the coffee pot brewing and poured myself a glass of water from the jug in the fridge while I waited. What I needed right now was a distraction. But I was in a foreign country. The only person I knew was currently otherwise occupied teaching a child to play piano. And I didn't know my way around. The only way I'd made it to Brandon's, the medic's place and back this morning was by calling a cab. Which was expensive.

Unless I wanted to be especially poor and/or completely lost, everything I had to distract myself was in this house. Which was to say, nothing much. I'd brought a book or two with me, optimistically, but had no desire to read them at the moment. If anything I needed to go for a walk. I needed to do something active. I needed fresh air. But as I just established, I didn't know my way around. I didn't know the culture. Leaving the house without a purpose or destination, alone, felt like a death sentence. I wasn't ready for that.

I sculled another glass of water and decided to return to the computer. I had two options now. With Ranger's email still on the screen I could either close the message and ignore it, pretend it never happened like I had every other email up until yesterday, or I could reply to it. Against my better judgement I hit reply and had typed out a reply and sent it before I could stop myself.

 _Fuck off, Ranger_.

Well, I never said it was an eloquent reply.

And then I penned a much more thought out note to Tank, Bobby and Lester. I'd promised to keep them updated. And notify them of any problems I encounter. I knew they would worry about me either way. It was their method. So I thought it best if I just sent them a daily update of my life.

 _Dear Tank, Bobby and Lester,_

 _Well, day two and I'm still alive. I met with Brandon this morning and after some hoop jumping which included meeting with his own medic friend and a promise to arbitrarily follow the instructions and directions he gives me, he agreed to work with me. We start tomorrow at 10am._

 _I'm pretty excited, to be honest. I know you guys think you can do a better job than any Brit, but this is the path I feel the need to follow and I appreciate you not trying to talk me out of it._

 _Speaking of the fact that I'm in another country, Ranger sent me an email informing me that he knows where I am and hopes I'm being safe. He said that his 'sources' told him. I know it was none of you, but I still don't like the fact that he's following my movements._ He _was the one that set this chain of events in motion. He relinquished control when he retracted the support!_

 _Sorry, I think I just needed to get that off my chest. I know there's nothing you can do about it._

 _Anyway, hope everything is okay at home._

 _Steph._

As soon as I'd hit sent and acknowledged that it was now flying at warp speed bad to the States, I slammed the lid of the laptop closed and walked away. I didn't need a repeat of last night. I didn't need to sit at the computer waiting anxiously for replies that weren't likely to come straight away. They all had busy lives.

I poured a cup of coffee, thrusting a Jammie Dodger between my teeth and made my way upstairs. Writing to the guys had left me feeling calmer, even though I'd left out the completely frustrating details of Brandon's apparent training regime (or possible lack thereof, because let's be honest, going to the park doesn't seem like training to me). And of course there was the ulcer inducing fact that I still hadn't heard back from Bobby about what on earth had possessed him when he dropped me at the airport and what it all meant.

I was calm and I was going to maintain that calm for at least an hour if it was the last thing I did. I hadn't had much calm in my life recently and figured I needed to hang onto it as long as I could when it came about. I grabbed the lighter of the two reads I'd brought with me – a work of paranormal trashy romance that paired together a man who could turn into a python and a woman who could turn into a squirrel, it sounded ridiculous, I was intrigued – and headed back downstairs to the courtyard. I figured I might as well add in some good old fashioned fresh air to the mix on top of a relaxing read.

Clearly I did not realise how tired I was after yesterday's travel day and last night's sleeplessness, because I hadn't even finished the first page before I was completely wiped out. Sleeping in the chair. Upright. I awoke several hours later to darkness as Aunt Beth gently shook my shoulder.

"Come on, love," she said in her odd mix of the American and British accents. "Dinner's ready. Time to eat."

*0*

I woke up late the next morning, despite going straight to bed (and sleep) after dinner and my earlier nap. As I sat up, wiping drool from my face, feeling refreshed and thinking about checking my email, I glanced at the clock on the wall.

Twenty past nine.

And I had to meet Brandon at ten.

I knew the universe didn't like me, but did it have to take _every_ opportunity it got to show it? I'd struggled to get Brandon to help me, practically scrapping my stomach to do so, and now my infamous ability to sleep through literally any alarm no matter how obnoxious meant that I would probably be late. He was going to cast me out again. He was to point out that I clearly wasn't serious if I couldn't arrive on time and refuse to help me after all. I'd have to return to the guys with my tail between my legs.

I may as well just go down stairs and start searching jobs at the button factory. There was no way I could go back to Trenton and continue to put my own life and those of my friends and family in danger by not getting training. Maybe I just wasn't cut out for the business after all.

Shaking my head vigorously, I put those thoughts out of my head. They weren't helpful. I was here to get training. I was going to get training. And when I was trained, I was going to return home and show everyone just how competent I was. I couldn't fail on this trip. My life and my happiness depended on it.

I skipped the shower, figuring I was just going to sweat all day anyway, and dressed in yoga pants and a stretchy top. I took the time to wind my hair up into a bun on top of my head so that it wouldn't be a pain in the ass today, ran downstairs with my shoes in hand and gulped down the coffee Aunt Beth had left for me. It was cold, but better than nothing. And with a Jammie Dodger chaser it was just fine.

Fortunately for me I'd ordered a cab last night before crawling into my bed. Unfortunately for me, it turned up while I was still jamming my feet into my shoes, beeping the horn incessantly. I hobbled over to the front door and stuck my head out, just so he knew I'd heard him, and yelled that I'd be out in a minute. Then I tightened my shoes, tucking the laces inside to be dealt with in the car, and ran back upstairs to grab my purse.

Brandon's house came into view at the end of the street at exactly three minutes after ten. I'd tried to impress upon my driver that I needed to be there as soon as possible, but I think something got lost in translation. The words coming out of his mouth were English, there was no doubt about that, but the way in which he combined them was illogical, referring to things that were completely off topic. I'd given up after about five minutes.

He pulled to the curb out front of Brandon's house and shoved a wad of cash at him on my way out the door, racing up the steps to bang on the door. There was an agonising minute and a half before I heard any movement inside the house. And then he was standing in front of me, arms crossed, glaring eyes. This was the biggest difference between him and the Merry Men. The Merry Men kept their faces blank when they were displeased with me. Brandon had no qualms about showing me the depths of his disapproval.

"What time do you call this?" he asked.

"I know I'm late," I said pleadingly. "I slept through my alarm and the cab driver was speaking in code or something. I just. I'm sorry. Is Imogen ready to go?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Imogen is at school," he said evenly. "It's Monday."

Of course it was. I knew that. I was such an idiot. But he _had_ told me that I'd be taking his daughter to the park just before insisting that I return at ten today. I drew my own conclusions from the information I'd been given, and as tended to happen, I was wrong. "Okay, so, what now?"

My heart was pounding in my chest, just waiting for him to close the door in my face. I needed him to not reject me. I needed him to find his admittedly small compassion gland and bleed it dry right now. I couldn't go back a failure. I'd invested too much into this venture. My livelihood depended on him letting me into his house right now.

He stepped back, further into the house and my heart leaped to my chest. I surged forward, inserting my foot into the door jamb to prevent him from shutting me out. Again, he raised his eyebrow. "What are you doing?" he asked.

"Stopping you from slamming the door in my face?" I squeaked, ashamed at how much my statement sounded like a question. "Please, I really need this. I'll work extra hard. How can I convince you that I'm worth your time?"

A sigh fell from his lips, and he rolled his eyes. "Relax, Stephanie," he said, stepping out on to the porch with me. "I was just grabbing my water bottle. You're gonna do ten laps of the block for being late."

"What?" I demanded. "You're punishing me?"

He shook his head, a slight smile gracing his lips for the first time since I'd met him. "No, dear, it's called a consequence, not a punishment." He took a sip from his water and gestured for me to get going. "Come on," he added. "You've already wasted enough of my valuable time. Best get to it."

Squaring my shoulders, as he settled into a seated position on the front steps and pulling out his phone. I dumped my purse next to him on the steps, ran through a few stretches I'd seen the guys do before working out and started jogging down the street.

"Don't stop running to walk on the far side," he called out. "I'll know if you do."

 _ **I'm working on some covert stuff right now, but I'll try to remember to update this story as well.**_


	23. Chapter 23

_Okay, guys, I'm gonna level with you. The reason I haven't gotten a chapter out before today is because a) I'm going chapter for chapter with this other story I'm writing but not posting yet, so I have to write TWO chapters for every chapter I post and b) I started reading 'Second Chances' by Rightytighty and was completely and utterly absorbed by it. I could concentrated on little else. If you haven't read her stuff you need to. She's a phenomenal writer who really knows how to build tension._

 **Chapter 23**

It took me a while to complete the ten laps. Suffice to say that even at a steady jog, speed was not exactly my forte. I was puffed by the end of the first lap and drenched in sweat by the end of the third. By my eighth lap I was so out of breath that I was convinced I was going to die before Brandon thought to end this. My suspicions were confirmed when I rounded the final corner for the ninth time to find the man in question on his feet. Stretching. As I passed him, he started jogging beside me, keeping pace as easily as if I was dawdling through the mall.

"If I beat you back to the house," Brandon said, barely audible over the sound of my laboured breathing. "You may as well book a flight back to The States tonight. I need to see your determination in this lap. I'm going to pick up the pace a little. A fast jog. You're gonna wanna run."

You don't have to tell me twice. I'd seen enough episodes of Doctor Who with Hal to know that when a British man says run, you better damn well be running, because there is probably a doomsday type disastrous alien event coming right for you. So I ran. I ran hard. I ignored the burning in my lungs and the ache of my legs and the steady drip of sweat off my chin and the stream of moisture down my back. I ignored the slight jarring pain in my shoulder with each footfall. And I most definitely ignored the sound of Brandon's feet on the pavement not far behind me.

I made it back before him. But only just. My butt had just hit the stairs, overcome by exhaustion, when was in front of me, ordering me to stand, to stretch out my muscles, to cool down my body so that I didn't seize up. He walked me through it. Gently. And with absolutely no malice. It was like he'd flicked a switch. When it ended, he motioned for me to follow him inside. We ended up in the kitchen where he handed me a bottle of water and a hand towel, gesturing for me to take a seat at the breakfast table.

"You did good, Plum," he began, grabbing a notebook and taking the chair opposite me. "I didn't expect you finish the ten alive, let alone beat me on the last lap. That shows determination, even when your brain says your body is ready to give up. It shows you have untapped stamina."

"Um, thanks?" I gasped, detaching the bottle of water from my lips after gulping down half of it.

"It means there's _something_ there to work with," Brandon explained. "It's promising."

I nodded, unsure of what to say (and possibly unable). He'd been so callous towards me up until this point that I didn't know how to handle this new attitude. Was he being genuine? I kind of got the same feeling I got whenever Hector entered a room smiling. Like I should be on guard. Nothing good ever came from a happy Hector. I mean, it was never directed at me, but I still got that fluttery nervousness whenever I saw that look on his face.

"Let's talk training," he went on, opening the notebook and whipping a pen out of nowhere. Literally. One second: no pen, the next: pen. "You obviously need cardio, core strength, self-defence… How are you with a gun?" I only had time to open my mouth when he cut me off. "What am I thinking? Gun training is a must. We'll also go through take down techniques, work on your flexibility, stamina… and anything else I deem necessary as we go along." He glanced up at me from scribbling all this down, meeting my eyes briefly. "How's that sound?"

"Whatever you say," I agreed.

Brandon nodded approvingly. "Good. You're learning." He went back to his notes then, writing and drawing lines. At ones stage I thought he was drawing a picture of a whale, but he just had very loopy handwriting. "Okay," he finally said, raising his head again. "Here's what's going to happen. You will be running with me five mornings a week at five AM. I expect you to be here on time. You will eat breakfast with Imogen and I so that I know you're eating nutritiously."

"I-" I attempted to protest, but he held up a hand to cut me off.

"There were cookie crumbs on you shirt when you arrived," he pointed out. "I'm assuming that was your breakfast this morning." I nodded, staring at the table and he made a grunting sound as he continued. "As I was saying. You will eat breakfast with Imogen and me, and then you will accompany me to take Imogen to school. During the school day you will be with me, undertaking training. After school you will accompany my daughter to her various extra-curricular activities." He slid a piece of paper toward me. It was a weekly schedule. And it was jam packed. "As you can see, she partakes in a variety of activities. For the duration of your training, so will you."

I nodded again, because he'd just listed all the different areas I needed to work on to improve. "Of course."

"I've already spoken to all her instructors and they've agreed to include you in their classes," he went on.

 _Wait, what?_ I thought, my eyes snapping up to his.

"You'll be participating in the classes alongside my daughter and her peers," he explained slowly. His tone was one you would use with a particularly dim witted child who just did not get that if you put your hand in the fire it's going to get burned. He stared straight into my eyes for a full minute, just like the previous day when he'd told me he couldn't train me until I had clearance from his medic friend. I knew he was challenging me, daring me to protest again.

When I said nothing – which the guys would have claimed as a miracle, because apparently I never shut up – he gave a short nod, slid another piece of paper toward me and stood. "Your training starts tomorrow. That's your schedule. I expect you to follow it down to the minute. No cutting corners. There will be consequences."

I gulped. Having already experienced the consequences for arriving a few minutes late, I didn't particularly want to test the limits by, say – I glanced down at the schedule – skipping yoga after lunch.

"You can take the rest of today to mentally prepare," he added as I followed him to the door. "The training is going to be intensive. It's going to be hard, exhausting and it will be as much a mental game as it is physical. You'll need to learn to overcome the doubt in you mind. And most importantly, you'll need to utilise the rest periods I've allowed you for actually resting. I've dictated a bed time not because I enjoy controlling your life, but because you'll need proper sleep to get through everything during the day."

Brandon ended up driving me back to Aunt Beth's house. It was a very quiet ride. Worse than driving with Ranger when he was in his zone. I was coming to recognise that whereas Ranger and the Merry Men generally exuded a calm no matter what they were feeling on the inside, Brandon's default setting was a scowl. At least when he was around me, that is. There were waves of tension rolling off him every second, making me feel uncomfortable and not just a little bit nervous. I found myself wondering what he would be capable of if he was ever given reason to lash out at me.

Like, would I even see it coming?

With the guys, you could tell when they were angry, because their body language changed ever so slightly to make them even more intimidating. With Brandon, so far he's always been some degreed of angry.

He pulled the car into the driveway and switched off the central locking – a habit and a precaution, he explained. I was just about to climb out when I realised there was one important factor we hadn't discussed.

"Uh, we didn't talk about payment," I said, pausing with my hand on the door handle. "I assume you'll require some kind of recompense. I mean, you're giving up a large portion of your life just to help me. I-"

"You'll keep fuel in my car," Brandon cut me off. "Relying on taxis is not acceptable. I'll pick you up and take care of transport for anywhere we need to be regarding training."

"Okay," I agreed. "That sounds fair." With that settled, I climbed out of the passenger seat. "Thank you for this," I added just before I closed the door. "I know you don't particularly want to. It means a lot to me."

"Just don't make me regret it," he said, staring straight ahead.

Inside, at the kitchen table, I took out the schedule and examined it. Mental preparation, Brandon had said. He was right about that. My schedule was just as crowded as his daughter's was. He'd broken the days up into hour long time slots. Each day had a number of things in common:

1) They started with a 5am run

2) Breakfast and Lunch were scheduled to be shared with him – so that he could monitor my nutrition (he apparently trusted that Aunt Beth wouldn't let me load junk into my mouth for dinner)

3) A strength training session, and

4) There was time blocked off for yoga before bed.

5) Bedtime was listed as 'promptly at ten'

In addition to these I would also be engaged in a great many forms of training. Everything he'd mentioned earlier. And some stuff that just didn't make sense. I assumed they were part of his daughter's schedule, because I really didn't see how playing the piano was going to assist my ability to chase down low life criminals. Nor tennis or dance for that matter. Soccer, Swimming, and Martial Arts all made sense, but I was pretty sure he was reaching a little too far with the others.

There wasn't a lot of free time scheduled in. Except weekends. Saturdays I had the normal morning run, and breakfast and then Imogen's soccer team had a game. Which I needed to be at. Because I was an unofficial part of the team for the next however long this took. Sunday was blissfully devoid of activities.

"How did it go with Brandon today?" Aunt Beth asked, bustling into the kitchen when an empty tea cup and a wad of piano music. "Any better than yesterday? He didn't make you jump any more hoops did he?"

I rolled my eyes. "Well, I was a bit late, so he made me run laps, which was horrendous. I have no idea how I'm gonna make it through this training schedule he's given me. Not only am I doing all the strength and cardio and a self-defence stuff I was expecting, but he's got me joining in on all of his daughter's extra curricula activities. How exactly are tennis lessons supposed to help me chase down a skip?" I asked, standing and joining her at the counter where she was scooping tea leaves into an infuser. "And piano. Is that a useful skill for a bounty hunter?"

"He did mention he wanted me to teach you piano," Aunt Beth nodded. "I'm sure he has his reasons."

I tried to contain another eye roll. There was no point in taking out my frustrations on Beth. She wasn't at fault. In fact, it wasn't even Brandon that was at fault. Everything that had happened so far was because of me. I was the one who'd refused training for way too long. I was the one who let disaster after disaster rule my life and devastate the town. I was the one who should have realised how stupid I was being. If I'd noticed all of that six years ago, I could have gotten the training I needed, listened to Ranger and the guys about what was necessary to survive in the business and avoided all the pain and embarrassment of the last half a decade.

I had no idea how piano playing could be useful in my line of business, but I wasn't exactly in a position to refuse the plan Brandon had set for me. I'd travelled across the ocean and practically grovelled on my knees for his help. If I threw it back in his face now, I may as well just return to Trenton with my tail between my legs and my resume ready to go for the Button Factory.

I couldn't do that. I couldn't bear the look on the guys faces when they realised I'd given up. They'd be supportive of my choices, sure, but there was no way I could face them on a regular basis knowing the kind of failure I'd brought on myself.

 ** _I know what you're thinking. "When are you going to clue us in to what's going on with Bobby? WE NEED TO KNOW!" Well, you'll be happy to know that I plan on having the next chapter comprised almost entirely of email conversations._**


	24. Chapter 24

_This chapter didn't exactly go to plan... Thanks, Lester._

 **Chapter 24**

With determined thoughts and my new action plan in hand, I made my way upstairs to the guest room to google some of the things Brandon was going to make me do. I was side tracked, though, as soon as I opened my laptop by the insistent notifications informing me that I had new emails. I was eager to hear from the guys. Hopefully all three of them. I couldn't handle this radio silence from Bobby at the moment. Something big had happened between us at the airport and I couldn't get it out of my head. Surely he wasn't so busy that he couldn't drop me a line to say "hey, yeah, no, don't like you that way it was just a dare from Lester."

At this stage, even knowing I was nothing more than a source of amusement between friends was preferable to this agony of uncertainty.

I clicked through to my email inbox and opened the first on the list that wasn't a promotion or spam.

 _From: tank rangeman . com,_

 _To:_ _Stephanie . plum live . com_

 _Subject: RE: Training update_

 _Steph,_

 _If it weren't for the fact that Ranger is still on the West Coast, I would beat him to a pulp. He's put you through enough with this chaos he's thrust on your life. The least he can do right now is let you have your space to figure things out. I've got Hector to put a block on Ranger's email so that he can't contact you anymore. You need this time for you._

 _Hope training goes well._

 _Tank._

Well at least I wouldn't have to worry about Ranger's unwanted words showing up on my screen any time soon. Except… I quickly hit reply and typed out my concerns.

 _From:_ _Stephanie . plum live . com_

 _To: tank rangeman . com,_

 _Subject: RE: RE: Training update_

 _Hey Tank,_

 _Thanks for looking out for me with the email thing, but wouldn't Ranger just be able make a new email address and contact me that way? It seems like a lot of effort for something that is easily side stepped._

 _Steph_

I hit send and moved on to the next one, from Lester. His was significantly longer.

 _From: fuckyeahsantos rangeman . com,_

 _To:_ _Stephanie . plum live . com_

 _Subject: RE: Training update_

 _Hi Beautiful,_

 _Things around here are boring without you. We haven't had a single game of What's that smell? Or Guess the slimy substance! in weeks. Yesterday, I swear to God, Hal spilt mayonnaise on his cargos just to have something to talk about in the SUV during a stake out. It was a little embarrassing to be honest. Cal legit thought it was semen. So disturbing._

 _Don't worry about Ranger. He's totally been taken care of._

 _You're right about the Brit. Tank, Bobby and I can definitely do a better job at training you than he can. We know you way better. But we also know what happens to people that try to clip your wings and prevent you from flying. You resent your mother for it. You hate the Burg for it. And then there's this mess with Ranger. I do not want to be added to that shit list. So you do what you need to do. Don't forget to show that Brandon guy who's boss once in a while. He doesn't need to have all the power and he certainly doesn't have all the knowledge. Remember to trust your gut._

 _Keep us posted on your progress._

 _Lester_

 _P.S. Don't forget the Golden Rule: Pics or it didn't happen. =P_

Lester's email made me smile. His jokes had always been able to pull me through a depression and his description of Hal's probably honest clumsiness as a bid to bring some interest to the world in my absence was flattering.

I was just starting to type out a reply when the laptop sang out a rather alarming tone. I recognised it as a Skype call from movies and TV shows that I'd watched, but was still confused as to why the sound was coming out of my laptop specifically. I knew I had Skype installed on my computer. I'd used it on sever occasions to chat with Lula or Mary Lou, sometimes even Aunt Beth, but always with the text features. Never a video chat.

For several terrifying seconds the thought flitted through my head that it could be Ranger. He knew all the details required to access it, and with Hector blocking his phone, it was possible that he could be getting desperate to talk to me after such an extended period of me ignoring him. It _was_ out of character for me to snub him. Usually, I would be at his beck and call, where he leads I follow. But that was before he'd paid me the ultimate disrespect by taking my safety into his hands and throwing it out the window. I was used to him being out of contact, but never in our six year relationship either as friends, mentor and student or as a couple, had I denied him access to me as diligently as I had these last months.

All this flitted through my mind in the half a second it took me to direct my gaze to the little notification in the corner.

 _LESTER IS CALLING_ , it said.

I clicked accept immediately, and in the next moment Lester's face filled my screen, all goofy and dishevelled looking. It was unnerving. This was the least put together I'd ever seen him, and it immediately had me worrying if something was wrong.

"Hey Beautiful!" he greeted enthusiastically.

"Hey Lester," I replied, giving an awkward little finger wave at my inbuilt webcam. "What's up?"

He shrugged, lifting a spoonful of something that looked suspiciously like cereal to his mouth and proceeding to chew with a sloppy grin on his face. "Jush wan-ned to shee your faysh," he said through his mouthful, milk dribbling down his chin.

"Eww!" I admonished. "Chew with your mouth closed! That's disgusting." But I was laughing, because it was genuinely good to see him, and chances were he was only trying to get a reaction out of me anyway.

"No worse than seeing you rolled in garbage," he quipped, swiping a hand across his lower face. "Besides, it's my day off, I can be as messy as I want."

"So _that's_ why your hair looks like you stuck your finger in a wall socket and only managed to slick back one side afterwards," I said. I'd never actually seen him like this. So unkempt. So uncaring. It was like a window into the past. I felt sure that this is what sixteen year old Lester looked like on a Saturday morning: sitting on the couch, watching cartoons and eating cereal in his pyjamas. Speaking of which… "What are you wearing?" I asked, peering at the hint of a cartoon character on the front of his green t-shirt.

Lester paused with another spoonful halfway to his mouth, looking directly into the camera and raising an eyebrow at me. In that moment it felt like he could see across the internet and straight through my shirt. It was mildly uncomfortable. "Are we having _that_ kind of Skype call, Beautiful," he asked, his grin creeping back onto his face as he slipped the spoon into his mouth in what I assume he thought was a sexy move.

It was not.

I rolled my eyes. I should have known he'd take it that way. "I meant what is on your shirt?" I amended.

"Oh," he uttered, taking the time to chew and swallow before speaking this time. He looked down at his shirt while his jaw worked. "It's Toph," he said, standing up a bit so that I could see the picture of a black haired girl in an Asian inspired green shirt and shorts and beige tunic with pale eyes. Her stance suggested she was ready to fight. Her lack of weapons informed me she was going to use her fists.

"It's tough?" I asked, unsure of exactly what he meant. Surely he meant _she's_ tough. That much I could see.

"No. Toph. T-O-P-H. Toph Beifong. She's from Avatar the Last Airbender. She's an Earth Bending Master. And she's blind. She sees through her feet using seismic energy. Although, tough is also a fairly accurate description."

"Earth Bending Master?" I had a feeling we were treading the waters closer to the isolated island that was Lester's nerdy side. It was actually a little terrifying to think that a hardened mercenary such as Lester Santos could have a nerdy side that wasn't centred around guns, but I'd discovered recently that he was deep in the nerd faction Usually he kept it well hidden, but every now and then someone would ask the wrong question and BAM! It all started pouring out. He spoke of fandoms and had a variety of themed shirts he sometimes woe in his down time.

As Lester launched into a confusing, description of the cartoon his shirt represented, I tried to maintain focus. Even though I regretted asking the question. His eyes were starting to get that fanatical gleam in them that always ended in my mind wandering, an apparently, so did my eyes, because just as he was building up a full head of steam to launch into the intricate details of the relationship between some fire dudes, I saw something behind him that made my chest constrict and my stomach do a little flip flop.

"Was that Bobby?" I asked, interrupting Lester mid sentence.

"Huh?" Lester asked, pausing in his lecture with his spoon still held in the air from making whatever point he was attempting to impress upon me.

"Was that Bobby I just saw walk behind you?" I repeated.

Lester turned around, craning his head to the side and out of shot, probably so he could see out the doorway I could just see the edge of on screen. "HEY BOBBY!" he called out after a second. "GET IN HERE! I'VE GOT STEPH ON SKYPE! COME SAY HELLO!"

"Oh, no, you don't have to-" I started, but cut myself off when Lester started yelling at Bobby again.

"THAT'S A LIE, DUDE," he called, still turned away from the screen. "YOU DON'T START FOR ANOTHER HALF HOUR! YOU'VE GOTPLENTY OF TIME!" There was a short pause while I assumed Bobby was defending himself and then more of Lester yelling. "THE SUPPLIES WILL STILL BE THERE IN HALF AN HOUR! JUST COME AND SAY HI!" Another few beats of static and white noise before Lester called, "WHATEVER MAN! YOU'RE LOSS!" and then he turned back me with a shrug. "Bobby has to go count stuff and tick boxes," he explained with a shrug. "He said it couldn't wait. Something about Bones not knowing the difference between an –insert medical item here- and an –insert almost identical medical item here-. "

I mirrored his shrug, trying to stay calm and nonchalant even as my stomach tied itself in knots and my brain was running a million miles a minute. Was he avoiding me? It was possible. But it was also possible that he legitimately had to get to the infirmary to take inventory of new supplies.

"His loss," Lester added, waving his spoon about once more.

"How is he?" I suddenly blurted out. I hadn't meant to. One minute I was wondering about it in my head, the next the question was falling from my lips.

"Bobby?"

"Yeah."

Lester's face screwed up a bit, and I recalled that we didn't talk about feelings. It wasn't a rule or anything, just the way things happened to be. "He's fine, I guess. Why? Your Spidey Sense tingling?"

I could help the furrow in my brow. "Something like that," I agreed.

"Anything to be worried about?"

Shaking my head, I ran my hands over my face to try and clear the foreboding thoughts in my head. Bobby had kissed me. Confused me. Sent my whole world into a spiral. And now he was avoiding me. Ignoring my emails. I still wasn't sure how I felt about the kiss, but I had the right to an explanation. Was he ashamed? Was he processing as much as I was? I needed some answers.

"So how's training?" Lester asked, interrupting my thoughts. "You were supposed to start today, right?"

"Yeah," I said, hoping the gust of breath that was my relief taking flight didn't translate as such across the grainy video and staticky sound. "It ended up being mostly administration type stuff. He did a bit of a jog and then he gave me my schedule."

"He gave you a schedule?" Lester asked, intrigued.

"Yeah, I feel like I'm back in middle school. He's got me shadowing all his daughter's extra curriculars and everything."

"Extra curriculars?"

"Yep," I confirmed. "She has one for every day of the week. And two on Tuesdays. I will be joining a bunch of nine year olds learning Dance, Tennis, Swimming, Soccer and Martial Arts. And also receiving private lessons from my aunt on piano. As per Brandon's request."

"Wow," Lester said, his tone one of wonder. "Those are some interesting choices for Bounty Hunter training… Maybe the guy doesn't really know what he's doing. Maybe you should ditch early and come home so we can train you."

I shook my head. "No. I mean, he's got me doing strength and agility training and three gun sessions a week as well. I just don't get the following around a nine year old part."

Lester made a thinking face. "At least some of it _could_ be useful," he explained slowly. "Martial Arts definitely. Swimming is a good way to improve fitness and ensure you're using your lungs properly. Dance and Soccer will work on your footwork and agility; maybe help you not trip as much. Piano though… that's a bit of a stretch."

"Exactly what I thought," I agreed. "Aunt Beth has full faith in him. She said he probably has a good reason."

"He might," Lester said. "I don't know the guy, so I can't take a guess at how he thinks. He could have a perfectly logical reason for the piano lessons. Like, Bobby told me once that surgeons that play video games have better results than surgeons that don't. Something about control and dexterity. So maybe Brandon's in on some link between piano skills and – I don't know – gun aim. Could be anything."

I thought about that for a minute. I wouldn't have thought that video games could have an effect on the outcome of surgery. Maybe Lester and Aunt Beth had a point. "Thanks," I said. "That actually helps."

Lester's self-assured grin was back on his face then. "Of course it does," he informed me.

"Anyway, I should probably go," I said reluctantly. "Brandon gave me the afternoon off to prepare mentally, and all I've done so far is talk to you."

"Are you saying I'm distracting you?" he asked.

"You have a very distracting personality," I replied.

"It's both a blessing and a curse," he conceded. "I'll let you go. Stay safe and keep us updated."

I waved awkwardly at the camera again. Never having participated in a Skype call, I wasn't sure what the etiquette was for hanging up, but was saved from the dilemma when the screen suddenly went blank. Guess Lester maintained the same Skype manners as he did phone manners. _Goodbyes are for sissies._

Shaking my head, I was just about to close up the computer and get on with some mental preparation – not that I had any idea of how to do such a thing – when my email notification dinged. I clicked over to the inbox and all the air left my lungs and my heart skipped several beats when I saw the name in the sender column: _Bobby_.

 _ **Well, the good thing is, I didn't**_ _ **promise**_ _ **you that we'd hear Bobby's side of the story THIS chapter... so I'm not a liar... I MAY be a devious writer, but a liar I am not. And I really did plan on having this chapter comprised almost entirely of emails...**_


	25. Chapter 25

_I wrote the first part of this chapter (the important part with Bobby's email in it) a month ago before going away for a week. I had every intention of writing more on it while I was away, but it as it turns out, interstate holidays to meet a new baby niece are really busy... so it didn't happen. And then I got home and was super distracted. And, of course, I needed to write that chapter of the secret project before I could post this one... but hey, better late than never, right? (O.O)_

 **Chapter 25**

I'd thought the tension in my body before accepting the Skype call had been excruciating, but it was nothing compared to the crushing, vice-like grip that was now wrapping around my chest. I could hardly breathe. I was almost certain I was having a panic attack. Two days I'd waited for this email, and now I was too distressed to open it? That was whack. If Bobby email contained an explanation for our sudden purposeful meeting of lips at the airport, I had to read it.

So taking a deep breath to fill my aching lungs, I pushed down all the ill-feelings in my body until they were in my pinkie toe and manoeuvred the mouse pointer over Bobby's name. I clicked. I clenched my eyes shut. Peeked at the screen with one eye. And finally worked up the courage to train both eyes on the words written there.

 _From: morethanjustamedic_

 _To:_

 _Subject: RE: The Airport_

 _Dear Stephanie,_

 _First of all, I apologise for this long period of silence. I'd like to tell you that I was run off my feet with work and haven't had time to sit down and read your emails, let alone reply to them, but I'd be lying, and you deserve better than that. So the truth is, I read your emails as soon as they came in, and I've tried to reply before now, but nothing has felt right. And you deserve it to be right._

 _I know I've been just as big an asshole as Ranger by leaving you in the lurch, and I should have just told you how I feel straight up instead of kissing you and leaving you hanging._

 _So here goes (better late than never, right?... although that didn't work out so great for Ranger… Shit. Please don't hate me. I don' think I could live with myself if I drove you away with my own stupidity). I've admired you for a long time. Your strength. Your unwavering sense of identity in the face of everything the Burg had tried to push on you. Your drive. There's an air about you that you know who you are, you know what you want and you're going to get it no matter what even if you don't know exactly ow at the moment. A point that was driven home when you were faced with this latest adversity._

 _You already know my feelings about what Ranger did to you and I'm sure you don't want the details of how we treated him in the gym after finding out that he hadn't informed_ you _of the new policy change. So I'll let that one lie with the mere reminder that no amount of shared history or loyalty to Ranger could turn me against you when all he was doing was making a fool of himself and putting you in danger._

 _I like you, Stephanie Plum. In fact, I'm pretty sure I love you. I've ad feeling for you for a long time. I thought, for both our sakes, that I could pretend they didn't exist. I didn't want to put any pressure on our friendship, especially knowing that you were with Ranger. I wasn't about to disrespect you both by trying to come between you._

 _Recently though, seeing the way Ranger has treated you has only strengthened those feelings I've tried to deny almost the entire time I've known you. So when you asked if there was a girl in my life, of course I wanted there to be. I wanted to let you know how I felt, how I've always felt. But I couldn't, for so many reasons. I didn't know for certain what your relationship status with Ranger was. I didn't want to make a fool of myself by assuming anything and I certainly didn't want to put extra stress n you by revealing those sorts of emotions in front of the other guys. Peer pressure and all that._

 _I want you do know that at no point in the last few weeks have I lied to you, except by omission._

 _When you started talking about making the right time rather than waiting for it to come along I knew I had to do something about the feelings I have for you. But we were on the way to the airport. You were leaving for England for an undetermined length of time. My window of opportunity was very small._

 _I'd put many hours of thought into how to tell you. I'd picked out just the right words and expressions and settings, but all I had was a few minutes, a car and a curb. Probably, I should have just kept it all to myself. I was selfish, though. When I saw you walking away, I couldn't do it. I had to let you know. And the only way I could think to convey all the feelings and emotions I have for you in the couple of seconds we had left was with a kiss._

 _I'm so sorry I left you hanging for so long. I can only imagine what it's been doing to your anxiety levels. I should have sent you an email straight away explaining all of this. I was a coward. A selfish coward who was too scared of your rejection to be honest and forthcoming with you._

 _I've been just as bad as Ranger in that respect and I understand completely if you reject me for that reason. I won't hold it against you, but I hope that we can still be friends._

 _Bobby._

I read it three times, trying to help it sink in. There were a lot of points in there for my brain to reconcile with. The references to his behaviour in comparison to Rangers were frustrating. Nothing Bobby had done in the six years I'd known him came anywhere close to what Ranger had done. So he'd harboured a secret crush. I'd be lying if I said I hadn't fantasised about half the Merry Men. The only thing that bothered me was the fact that by the end of the email he seemed to be attempting to backtrack. Like he was trying to undo everything he'd said throughout the entire body of the email by requesting that we remain friends.

He spent, like, eight hundred words telling me how he thinks he loves me and always has, and then that last sentence was like he was breaking up with me before we'd even started anything. I didn't know what to think. Did he regret letting me know?

A burst of anger escaped me at that thought and I'd hit reply before I'd even thought about it. I bashed out a few words, read them back and deleted them in quick succession before taking a deep breath, closing my eyes for a few minutes and trying again. More slowly. Part of me wanted to leave it a few days before replying to let him know how it felt, but the other part of me knew that that was petty and uncalled for.

 _From:_

 _To: morethanjustamedic_

 _Subject: RE: RE: The Airport_

 _Dear Bobby,_

 _I don't know how to tell you this so that you don't think too much into it and blow it way out of proportion, or whatever, so I hope you understand. I'll try to be precise and explicit._

 _I'm flattered that you feel that way about me, and finally found the courage to let me know. It would have been nice to find out a little more promptly after our PDA at the airport, but it is what it is, and I know now. Like you said, better late than never (I know you're worried about the comparison to Ranger in this aspect, and I want you to know that it doesn't even come close to rivalling what he did. Yes, I was frustrated at the lack of explanation, but at least your actions didn't put me in any immediate or ongoing danger). But I don't feel like right now is the right time to start a relationship. Especially a long distance one. I have to focus on my training so I can be better at my job and not cause so much havoc wherever I go. I can't have any distractions pulling my mind away from my task._

 _I hope you know that this isn't an outright rejection. I'm acknowledging your declaration and responding with as much maturity as I can muster. I'm still stinging from Ranger's actions. Between that and the fact that I'm likely to be over here in England for a couple of months at least, I just don't think it would be smart to welcome in a personal distraction._

 _We will remain friends, so don't even_ try _to back out like some asshole gentleman deciding I need space. For now, we maintain the status quo. When I get back, though, we're going to have a serious talk to re-evaluate. I'd love to give us a chance, but we deserve a proper chance, one that isn't marred by the shadow of Ranger's betrayal and a few thousand miles of ocean between us._

 _Stephanie._

I hit send and closed the lid of the laptop. I didn't need to think about it anymore tonight. I needed to get some mental preparation done, just like Brandon said, and the only way I could see to do that was to push the thing with Bobby out of my mind, now that I knew that it really was a thing and not just a dare or an experiment or an accident, and google how one executed a bedtime yoga routine, and what exactly the benefits of learning to play the piano were.

According to the Steinway website, playing piano was a workout all of its own, even though you were sitting down. It mentioned stuff like hand eye coordination, fine motor skills, slowing the aging process and improving intellect. It has been known to improve verbal memory and has a calming ability. I'm going to go ahead and assume that the calming stuff is referring to people who can actually play piano. I doubted that plunking out Row, Row, Row Your Boat in a stilted and halting manner was going to calm me down.

So maybe there was a point to learning piano. We'd see ow well that worked out over the coming weeks. For now, I would set six alarms for the morning so that I had zero chance of sleeping through them this time, and set out my workout clothes ready to be put on. Pinterest said that being a morning person could be achieved this way and if I was going to be getting up for such actions as _running_ every morning for the next however long this took, I'd need to become one. I'm positive Brandon would prefer to be greeted by a human being first thing in the morning, rather than a zombie.

 ** _I'd love to promise not to take as long to update next time, but given everything that I have going on right now, I'd rather not try it. So instead, rest assured (all those who read and review to ask me if I'm going to finish) that I WILL finish this story no matter what. It may take months or years, but it will one day be completed._**


End file.
